Insurgence
by RisaLovesCato
Summary: Sequel to Formidable...Katniss and Cato are the victors and the star-crossed lovers of the 74th annual Hunger Games. This is the 3rd Quarter Quell. "Hundreds are dying, uprisings are growing out of control. People are wondering about District 13, wondering what's being hidden there. Chaos. There was no other word to describe it." HIATUS
1. Doubts

_Author's Note: Hello lovely reader, this is the sequel to Formidable, another fanfic of mine. I advise you read it before this, but it is your choice. Anyways, I hope that you enjoy this chapter and perhaps would be kind enough to leave me a review? :D_

_Haha, my dears. Enjoy and review! xx_

* * *

**in-sur-gence **[in-sur-juhns]

_noun: _an act of rebellion; insurrection; revolt

* * *

**Katniss:**

There's something different about him. When I walk into the train compartment with a full crew of cameramen trailing behind and eager to film our reunion, I already can tell. Cato is sitting by the window, looking outside at the snowy landscape, and when we crowd in, he turns and stares for a moment before sending a flashing smile towards me.

"Katniss Everdeen. It's been half a year," he says, getting up. He's leaner….not skinnier, but not as big as the last time I saw him, his frame isn't completely loaded with muscle, yet there obviously isn't an ounce of fat either.

"Yes..." I step forwards hesitantly; I expected something other than this. Perhaps a warmer welcome? Something that shows that we are more than simple comrades?

"Miss me?" My doubts melt away when he looks down at me with those eyes of his, they are as bright as his smile. Then he kisses me, but through the warmth and the feeling of his hands holding my face, there's something else.

I can hear the crew's hushed excitement and Effie's delighted gasp. So when we pull away I pretend that nothing was wrong, and smile and laugh for the cameras. Cato is grinning too, and I feel him sweep me up and carry me towards the seats.

"Cato, I did. But it's marvelous to be with you again," I say in a bubbly, chirpy voice that isn't my own. I wish that they'd stop filming already, I can't be myself when so many people are watching and all I hear is the sound of the crew adjusting their lenses.

The drifting snowflakes and the blinding whiteness outside lend the room a beautiful natural glow that merges with the warm light cast by the chandeliers. I stare at his face, the face that girls back home envy me for, the face that Gale dislikes me for, and the face that is so familiar yet sends butterflies down my stomach every time I see it.

"You're not acting like yourself, love. I've been waiting to see you for months, grace me…" He smirks, and before he even finishes the sentence I plant a quick kiss on his lips, silencing him.

"That isn't you either, but I'm not complaining," he chuckles, and then I am putting my arm through the crook of his arm and pulling him up and towards the door where we came in through.

"It's great out there, let's go." I laugh and merrily lead Cato outside in the snow, where he gives me a wild grin before gently bumping into me. I fall into the snow, still smiling and immediately start scooping up as much snow as I can with my warm fur gloves on.

"Oh, I do love that. You're all still filming this, right?" Effie's excited voice rings across the snow as I throw the snowball at Cato and he laughs it off before declaring that "It's on, Katniss," and turning away to pack the soft snow with his bare hands.

When Effie announces that we need to get going "at this very moment" we are both cold, wet and smiling. I don't think that I've had so much fun since…forever, it seems. There is snow in his blonde hair and some on his nose, and I brush it off. But only when he presses his cold lips to my warm ones and I feel ice-cold water in between them do I realize that his lips are coated with snow too.

"You missed a spot, Fire Girl." He smirks, holding me close to him and walking me up the steps back onto the train.

And when I scowl at the old nickname, he simply grins, and I think _that smile could light up all of District 12_…I don't even remember why I ever had those doubts when I first saw him.

…

"They all secretly hate me," Cato mutters. "And yet they are forced to clap and cheer."

I stay quiet as we pull out from the District 1 train station. I can't disagree, in 11 they didn't even try to pretend, the dark-skinned farmers stood silent at the end of our small speeches. There was a family with several young girls that reminded me so much of Rue, with their large dark eyes and almost weightless appearance, that I wanted to reach out and apologize for their loss. Of course I didn't…after all, it was my arrow that brought down their sister. In 3, the people's dislike of Cato was so great that I could almost hear their sneers although they clapped and cheered. And just now, in 1, there was much clapping as we paraded through the shining streets, but I saw a family- clearly Marvel's - standing to the side, frowning. I do not know which family was Glimmer's, among the jeweled crowd in their sparkling clothing.

"I know what it feels like." I glance at him and his eyes are closed, yet there is such a serious expression frozen on his face. "To have to act like you feel something you don't."

"What do you mean?" I ask. I know that Cato is good at lying, and that he can hide things extremely well, but acting?

He doesn't answer me but just continues. "You don't even know how good I am at it."

We are both quiet and staring outside at the passing trees. It'll be almost a day before we arrive in District 12, even with two new victors the Capitol insists on following tradition, our districts will be visited last. 12, and then 2, and then the final celebration in the Capitol. Venia and Octavia were telling me about how dull things were over there while ripping the hair off my body. My legs still sting although that was more than a day ago.

"I have to go, Enobaria's calling me. I'll see you later, ok?" I can't hear Enobaria's voice at all, but Cato gets up, glances at me with those piercing eyes for a moment, and then opens the decorated glass door and leaves.

I decide to go find Cinna or Haymitch, or maybe even Effie. They're all somewhere on our half of the train. This compartment where Cato and I were is the middle of the train, and the sections are evenly divided between the two victors' prep team, mentors, and escorts.

I pass into the next compartment, where Octavia, Flavius, and Venia are sitting around a circular table, where there are flickering holograms of people being cast into the air by some type of device.

"What are you doing?" I inquire, truly curious. The images are changing quickly, steadying into a nearly solid screen in front of my prep teams' wide eyes.

"We're looking through the attendance for the Snow Ball. It's tonight, you know." Octavia says, eagerly pressing a button on her device. "Only the most important people are invited."

The Snow Ball…it's the most prestigious and anticipated event in the Capitol other than the annual Hunger Games. The last one was five years ago, it was televised in full and was required viewing across Panem. It always happened during a Victory Tour, and I think that President Snow and various Capitol citizens comment on that year's Games. I don't remember much from that year other than the fact that it was huge and incredibly fancy. Perhaps even grander than the party that will be thrown for the victors in a few days.

"We all _must_ watch. Oh, it'll be so so fun!" Venia laughs delightedly. "Everybody's going to watch it together. Even Yevon and Cato's prep team."

"Yes, Effie will make sure of that," Flavius says.

"Anybody special that was invited?" They seem so excited that I only think it right to show at least some excitement, as fake as it might be. I don't have anything to do anyways since Cato sort of just abandoned me.

"Finnick Odair. Esmerelda Teshid. Some others, and I think that Taye Helistin is going too. Oh, and Rosalie Darling too," Octavia says, not taking her eyes from her screen.

"I thought that Taye was from the Districts," I mutter. He looked far too plain to be one of those freakishly dressed Capital citizens. Not plain in looks, just plainly dressed.

"No, he's President Snow's nephew. He is so handsome yet he has such a bland sense of fashion. I think that he should get some tattoos and oh, he would look dashing with some nice long eyelashes." Venia smiles at the thought and I feel the urge to run out the door. My prep team can be so oblivious to how strange I think they are, with their freakish ideas. At the same time I am surprised, I didn't know that the president had any siblings, let alone nephews or nieces.

"Where's Haymitch?"

"He said that he was going to go enjoy a drink with Enobaria." I wrinkle my nose at their answer. Knowing Haymitch, it'll be far more than one drink. I wonder if Enobaria was really calling Cato.

"I'll see you later tonight then." I go off and look for Cinna and Effie. I don't want to put up with two drunk individuals who have both killed more than a few people before.

I don't find Effie anywhere but Cinna is in his section of the train, where he designs my outfits for the tour. Right now there's this beautiful blue dress hanging from the rack in front of him.

"Wow," I say, and he turns and smiles.

"What's wrong?" he asks without my having to say anything. I sigh, Cinna always understands me. I tell him about how Cato's been acting strangely and what he said earlier. He listens patiently and has a knowing look on his face.

"Katniss, you have to understand that it's not easy being him. He hated you in the beginning of the Games and somehow you two ended up as lovers. I bet that he's just confused."

"But the thing is…he's _not_," I frown. "It's like he's going back to being cold and mysterious. I don't know why."

"I don't know either, but don't worry about it," Cinna says. It's gotten dark, and when I look at the clock it reads nine o'clock. I've been in here for over an hour. Time always passes so quickly when I'm talking with Cinna.

"It's time for us to watch the ball. Effie'll have a fit if we don't show up on time," he ties a knot in the fabric and together we make our way to that middle compartment.

Effie seems to have succeeded, because everyone is there, including a drunken pair of mentors. Cato is trying to make Enobaria drink some kind of concoction. The chandeliers above-head are dimmed and the huge, huge flat screen television mounted on the wall opposite to the couches and seats is ready.

"What do I always tell you about being late? It starts broadcasting in a few minutes!" Effie chides as we sit down. I take the free spot in between Octavia and Haymitch, and when Octavia pushes me towards Cato, Haymitch gruffly tells me to sit back down.

"Sweetheart, don't go near him. I've thought this over and I think that this whole cross-district romance is ridiculous," he says, glaring at Cato and Enobaria with blood-shot eyes.

"Likewise," the District 2 mentor snaps. "Let's end this damn thing right now."

Everyone is suddenly tense and Effie is hurriedly trying to break the tension by chattering on about how the broadcast will be live in under five minutes and how we should prepare. But it is Cato who breaks the ice by leaping up and in one swift motion, pouring half of the frothy liquid in his hands down his mentor's throat.

While she coughs and is busy trying not to choke to death, he turns to Effie.

"I'm sorry, while Enobaria gets sober enough to apologize, please go on," he says in this innocent voice. She smiles at the help, and I think that Cato is really quite good at scoring points with people. He obviously can be very polite at times.

Effie turns on the television just in time for us to see the Capitol emblem flash onto the screen and then this lively, elegant tune playing as the broadcast shifts to the guests entering a huge, beautiful mansion lit by thousands of lights. It is nighttime but with the lights the colorful gowns and suits are clearly visible.

"Wow,look at that red dress, and that gorgeous gown!" Octavia breathes besides me. The prep teams are completely entranced by the clothing onscreen. I can't blame them, these people have truly gone all out for this ball, with their masks and wigs, and I even see some costumes flickering with faux-fire. I can see Cinna's amused smile, they seem to have liked my girl on fire approach.

After the guests have all entered and are standing in the lavishly decorated and sparkling ballroom, President Snow makes the opening speech. It is laden with fancy words and cleverly presented ideas, but we all know that he is just reinforcing and reminding all of Panem that the Districts will "forevermore" be controlled and contained by the Capitol. He ends with a flourish and a hand gesture towards the honored guests, who are twittering in their heels and ties.

"Let the Ball begin!"

* * *

**Cato:**

What follows is one of the most ridiculous and time-wasting events to happen all year. After Enobaria shoves me into one of Katniss' prep team freaks and finishes fuming about my nerve, we are quiet as we watch the people onscreen dance and move to the music.

Half an hour in I lean back on the couch and glance at Katniss. The figures onscreen are reflected in her luminous eyes. The eyes that I'm supposedly in love with.

Supposedly…or am I? It's been a while since the arena. A while filled with mentoring and visits from various Capitol idiots. A while filled with girls pressing up to me, with hopeful children and congratulations. There's not much time for love in between.

But this morning when I saw her walk in, there was some kind of jolt that ran down my back. And of course with the cameras rolling and that searching look in those eyes of hers, I couldn't do anything but love her. Love her for the cameras, for the nation of Panem. I don't know if I can afford to love her for my own selfish pleasures. It's too dangerous, I'm too dangerous.

"_This ball is in honor of this year's victors, so several of our guests have been invited to share their feelings about the 74th annual Hunger Games." _

I tear my gaze away from her and focus on the screen again, the music's stopped and President Snow has just announced the start of the commenting. I remember from when I was thirteen and still so damn innocent. The things they said about the victors was wonderful, and to me back then I wanted nothing more but to be the one they were talking about.

And now that desire comes true, I think. But it feels different than I imagined it would. Instead of being overjoyed and smug, I just want them to hurry and finish gushing about how this romance touched their hearts or whatever else. It's tiring to listen to their cooing and endure their raking eyes.

"First up is Miss Esmerelda Teshid." The president smiles slowly, the skin over his unnaturally puffed lips stretching to accommodate as the rich middle-aged woman makes her way up the stairs to the balcony. She's middle-aged but looks like a young woman, a young woman made of rubber and smooth plastic. Attractive in a grotesque way, all of Panem knows that under all the finery and layers of surgery, she is just as old as they are.

"Oh, my diamond rings…this was a wonderful year. We have not one, but two victors!" Esmerelda takes the microphone from the president and laughs in a high voice. "I think both put on an interesting performance, and I simply adore the romance between them. Young love is so envious, although I must add that Cato stole my heart through the screen."

She winks and then waltzes away while the guests clap and President Snow smiles again.

"Ha." Enobaria guffaws and elbows me in the ribs. I shake my head, unamused. Performance, was it? So it was, but god, that woman has no shame. Katniss' face is going red, even in the dim golden light of the chandeliers I can see that.

"Huh, as if you even have your own heart anymore," she mutters, and I snicker. She's right.

"Next is Miss Rosalie Darling." Snow licks his lips, and gives the cameras some kind of grin. Rosalie is like some kind of daughter to him, they get along as well as Lover Boy and Caesar during interviews, and all of Panem knows that he rarely resists her demands.

When no one steps forward or approaches the staircase, the president says in a tentative way, "Rosalie? Please come forward."

There is nothing but the sound of whispering, and still she doesn't go forward. The cameras are trained on Snow's face the entire time, and it is evident that he is growing impatient and perhaps worried.

"Where is she? Where is Rosalie?" He hisses, there is spit gathering at the corners of his mouth and he glares at the guests while dabbing at it with a handkerchief.

There are a few more moments of shocked silence at the outburst, before an official appears on the screen, tapping Snow's shoulder gingerly before leaning down and whispering something into the president's ear.

He takes a breath, dismisses the official, and smiles a strained, snakelike smile. Hiding the anger that can be clearly made out in those narrowed eyes.

"It appears that Miss Darling is not able to make an appearance tonight."

…

There is a round of _why? _and _is she alright? _from the crowd.

"What ever happened?" Katniss' escort says, one hand over her painted lips.

As if in answer, Snow coughs into the microphone for silence before explaining. "It is told to me that Miss Darling is currently tending to her…" He pauses and licks his lips again. "…her dogs, which have become ill."

Enobaria suddenly bursts out in throaty laughter at this, which is joined by Haymitch's guffaw. Both of them laugh while I smirk at the screen and Katniss just sits there, eyebrows raised. Everyone else is simply shocked.

"That girl's got guts." Haymitch finally manages to say, chuckling. "She didn't show up to Snow's precious little ball…so she could take care of her _dogs_."

Enobaria goes into another fit of deep laughing at this. "Ha, Snow's not going to let her off this time. The beauty queen's finally going to get in trouble with the king."

"Did you see the look on his face?" I ask casually, smirking. We all know that Rosalie adores her pack of dogs, with their blow-dried fur and manicures, but to _this level_? To suddenly cancel her appearance after the president already humiliated himself in front of the entire nation, and not even bothering to pass on the message herself. It's all so bold.

"He's going to get her back somehow," Katniss says quietly, still staring ahead at the screen, where Finnick Odair is trying to smooth things over for his lover by delivering a charming speech.

Yes, he will be getting Rosalie back. Somehow.

* * *

**Katniss:**

Cato is obviously surprised by how poor District 12 is. He stares at me when I showed him the small house we lived in before Victor Village, and blinks at the Hob when I lead him around the Seam. I think that he's expecting Prim and my mother to look like me, and when he meets them, he looks from them to me in confusion. I couldn't help but laugh, it's new for me to see Cato confused and seemingly lost.

My mother still doesn't approve of our relationship, she still sees him as the monstrous boy that killed Peeta and so many others, but I know that she's grateful to him for protecting me. And Prim? Sweet sweet Prim is full of nothing but thanks, and runs up to Cato and hugs him.

"You move fast, Prim. Your sister waited forever in the arena and you're at it the moment I meet you." He stands still as she lets go and smirks in my direction while I scowl.

"Katniss is lucky, she's pretty and someone like you loves her." Prim says in that innocent way. "Don't you think so?"

"Yes, she is lucky that I…love her." He says, still smirking. I am confused to why he hesitates, but dismiss my doubts. It's nothing, probably.

Gale, like my mother, is against Cato and I being together, and shows it in quite a way. He has this frown on his face the entire time I am introducing Cato to him.

"I didn't think a cousin would be so concerned with Katniss' love life," Cato interrupts, and he has the signature bored expression on his face.

"You take care of her…or else," Gale threatens, and Cato smirks before walking away without a word.

I quickly follow and find him on the train, ready for our departure to District 2.

…

"So…" I say awkwardly. Cato's been staring out the window again, not talking or looking at me. And like last time, I've been sitting in the seat across from him, wondering what's going through his mind.

"Tell me about your family, your home. Just tell me about yourself." I realize that I know nothing at all about him other than what I saw in the arena. Nothing at all other than that his life has been full of people pressuring him to be the best of the best.

"Myself…?" he asks in a surprised voice. "You don't want to know."

But I do, I really do. I want to know everything. I lean forward against the table and give him a determined look.

"I'm an only child. My parents are both peacekeepers in the Capitol. I haven't seen them for eight years." He starts with this sad smile on his face, a smile that accepts everything he's about to tell me, and wouldn't change it for the world.

And I come to know Cato Greene. Raised in the wealthiest parts of District 2, receiving the best education, the best opportunities, the best physical nourishment. He could have become a stonecutter or a peacekeeper, a merchant or a government official. And he chose to start training at eight years old. He had it all, wealth, intelligence, charm, perseverance. But what he didn't have was love.

His parents were away for months at a time, leaving him, a child, alone at home. And when they left permanently to work for officials in the Capitol, Cato was left there. Wealthy and loved by all of his district. But it wasn't enough.

"How…where did you eat and sleep once your parents left?" I ask.

"They left me a mansion. A mansion full of maids and nurses," Cato mutters bitterly. "I fired them all and mostly hung with Clove. Her family fed me most days."

I am silent, they must have been so close to do that. I can imagine Cato going home with Clove and having a good time with the family that he never had. I suppose that Clove was like a sister to him.

"And sleeping? I moved around town, there were plenty of options." He snickers and I realize what he's implying and scowl. He didn't…he couldn't have. But I stare at that pair of eyes and those toned muscles and can believe it.

"I'm kidding. Katniss, I'm just kidding," he reaches across the table and grabs my wrist as I get up to leave. "Don't go."

"We'll see if you were, won't we?" I reply coldly, if it was really just him teasing me, it's not funny.

I try to shake his hand off but he doesn't let go. I stare at him. A boy who craved love as a child and filled that craving by stepping into someone else's life and feeding off their kindness. I remember what Clove said so long ago to me.

"_He doesn't love easily…but when he falls, he falls hard." _

"So have you fallen?" I murmur. I don't intend for him to hear it but of course he does. He looks at the floor, the beautifully carpeted floor am doesn't say anything, still holding onto my wrist. We are both standing now.

"I don't know. You tell me."

He kisses me, locking our mouths together and for a moment I think that this is just like that last day on the train, but then he quickly pulls away and before I can examine his expression, Cato pulls me into a tight embrace.

It all feels like so much more now that I know about Cato's past. I'm afraid to move, to break the moment and whatever he might be feeling right now. So I just stand there in his arms, burying my face into his chest and savoring the feel of his hand stroking my hair gently.

…

"They're gone. All of them, all of my lovely pups are gone. I know that it was foolish and quite frankly, rude of me to suddenly cancel my attendance that night, but…"

Months later is the first interview with President Snow and Rosalie Darling since before the Victory Tour. Again, after the celebrations in District 2 and the Capitol, I said my farewells to Cato as he was dropped off. I couldn't see him again until the Quarter Quell, another half year away.

This is another of those mandatory viewing television events, and I sit beside Haymitch and Prim on our couch in the new house.

_They're gone. _

The first words that Rosalie says after she walks onstage and takes a seat. The president is sitting on the couch opposite her and Caesar is standing in between them, in the background.

"…but President Snow, a dozen dogs do not just disappear. They don't die at once, they do not get lost at once, they are not stolen at once," she is fixing him with an intense, cold stare.

"But they can be killed at once. And I found this on my driveway after they disappeared." She is dressed in a beautiful night-blue gown and when she pulls the white, reflective fabric out of a pocket somewhere, there is no mistaking it. It's part of a peacekeeper's uniform.

"Rosalie that is simply a coincidence. You are getting angry at _me_, as if it was my fault. This is a rather unfortunate event, but what's done is done." The president smiles tightly.

"President, we've had wonderful times together. I know you, and I know when you are telling the truth or not!" She is rising up in her seat, a cascade of dark silk, finery, and midnight black hair, and her voice has risen to a barely contained shout.

"Rosalie, please calm down." Caesar intervenes, and the victor sits back down, still staring at the president.

"Yes, please do. Tell you what, my dear. To make amends for this unfortunate happening, whoever might have caused it…" Snow says the last words with extra force, still smiling tightly. He dabs at his forehead in a gentlemanly way, and continues.

"…I'll grant you anything you wish, as long as it is in my power."

I go over this intense interview in my mind. Haymitch and my mother seem to understand what's going on but Prim seems to be confused. Rosalie humiliated Snow at the ball months ago, practically saying that tending to her dogs was more important than showing up to a prestigious event hosted by the president himself. An event at which she was supposed to speak, and didn't come forward.

And today she is telling all of Panem that her dogs are gone, and implying that it was on President Snow's orders that they were killed. To perhaps calm her down and keep her from speaking more about him, he is granting her anything she wants.

"She certainly had that coming. And he had this coming too, we all know that Rosalie's not going to keep quiet about something like this." Haymitch says as Rosalie thinks onstage. For once he's not drunk.

…

"You cannot solve many conflicts by taking a living being's life, and one hundred years ago that is exactly what the nation of Panem thought would be sufficient enough to bring peace," she says slowly, each accented syllable ringing in my ears. This is important, I can tell by the silence in the crowd onscreen and how Haymitch is leaning forward, hair unkempt but eyes bright and worried.

"I would like to visit District 13. I would like to see how that solution worked out."

The moment she finishes the sentence, President Snow's face twists into a demonic expression of rage and the screen flashes with static before going black.

We stare at the darkened screen, shocked and horrified. And I can only hope that Rosalie will be alright.

…

Mere weeks later is the reading of the card, which is new to me but is remembered by Haymitch and my mother. Another mandatory viewing, and this time when we see Snow onscreen, smiling like nothing happened during that interview, the revulsion is evident in our expressions.

"Quarter Quells are horrible. I wish you didn't have to mentor this one." Prim says as President Snow goes on to tell us what happened in the previous Quarter Quells.

"I know, I know." I pat her on the back and try to seem reassuring.

"Is Rosalie alright?" she asks. I am wondering the same thing, the famous victor hasn't been seen on television or anywhere else, it seems, since that day. Rumors say that she's dead, others say that she's fine. Either way, it is clear that even the Capitol is shaken by what may or may not have happened to their beloved, smiling Rosalie.

It's been even worse in the Districts, in 12 alone there have been scuffles and fights between the new peacekeepers and townspeople, there's a profound, renewed fear and mistrust of peacekeepers and an even stronger hate of President Snow.

I think back to something I saw a few days ago. Flashing words on a screen in the mayor's house when I was there to talk to Madge.

"UPDATE ON DISTRICT 3. UPDATE ON DISTRICT 4. UPDATE ON DISTRICT 6. UPDATE ON DISTRICT 9."

After each flashing of words was a scene from the books about the Dark Days, reporters warning that the level of chaos was increasing, that more force was being sent to each of the districts. Screaming people with masks over their faces, throwing bricks at buildings and peacekeepers. Buildings on fire. Peacekeepers shooting into the crowd, sending up sprays of blood, taking lives at random.

Uprisings. There was no other word to describe it, not in President Snow's dictionary or anyone else's.

_Is Rosalie alright? _I don't know, Prim. She's started a rebellion that's spread across Panem. Hundreds are dying, uprisings are growing out of control. People are wondering about District 13, wondering what's being hidden there and why President Snow was so horrifyingly angry. I honestly don't think that she's exactly "alright".

Of course I don't say any of that, it would traumatize her.

"I hope so," I say softly, ending it at that. We all look at the screen again just in time to see a little boy dressed in white- I think that it's Snow's grandson – bring up a box full of yellowed, aging envelopes. Centuries of Quarter Quell ideas devised a hundred years ago and ready to be used.

Snow opens the envelope, licking his lips in a way I've grown to hate. Without any hesitation he reads, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

My mother falls back into her chair, hard. Prim cries out, shocked. But I am just staring at the president and his puffed lips. I feel like most people in the crowd onscreen. Baffled, still trying to absorb the information. Existing pool of victors?

Then it hits me, what it means. First I think about Cato and the other victors, to push back the truth. He'll want to volunteer; I know the satisfied look in his eye when he kills. And Rosalie, whether she's still alive or not, this is meant to target her, obviously. If she isn't reaped then she'll have to see twenty three of her comrades fall. Then I have to accept what it means for me. District 12 only has two existing victors. One male and one female. I am that female.

I'm going back into the arena.


	2. Elusion

_Sorry about not updating later, I tried to improve my writing a bit. I feel as if I'm falling out of it right now. _

_This is to the anonymous reviewer (you know who you are), Katniss Everdeen is a strong character, yes. Suzanne Collins wrote her beautifully and her personality and motivation was clear throughout the series. I am ashamed to say that this is untrue for my fanfictions, you are right. I know I've strayed out of character several times and have indeed weakened her. However you must take into account that these two stories are my first fanfics and the first time I've writen anything so lengthy. I regret placing Katniss in those situations and having her act so weak now, and that is why I will try my hardest to rebuild her as the strong girl she is from now on. And regarding the OC leading the rebellion, this is my story and it is only right for the author to decide what will happen. I will think about the plot but do not wish to follow Suzanne Collins' storyline exactly. There's a reason this is an AU. Thank you for the review, I hope you will continue helping me improve my writing. _

_Alright everyone else, here's chapter two. Please enjoy and leave a _review _with any thoughts, comments, or suggestions. I will cherish them all. :)_

* * *

**Katniss:**

I am quiet on the train ride to the Capitol. This morning, the reaping was nothing more than a tradition. District 12 only has two living victors, two that stood alone in front of the Justice hall platform and listened to Effie sniff her way through the annual speech and swirl her powdered, thin hand around the glass bowl, as if taking her time would change anything.

There's no point wallowing in self-pity, so I just stare at the window blankly. They didn't even let me say goodbye. This is the second time I'm leaving Prim and my mother, and while they are far more well-off than last year, I know that my sister is crying for me right now. And they ushered me out the back door and onto the train without even giving me the chance to see them one last time. "_New procedure_," Head Peacekeeper Thread said. _Afraid that I'll tell them something rebellious and dangerous, _I say.

Because even though Rosalie may be the one to bring the Capitol's flaws out of the darkness, I am still there, still here with one foot in the rebellions. I heard how they talked about me back home. They said I was truly a girl on fire, someone with a flame inside her, ready to be unleashed. Apparently it has something to do with me joining the Careers and influencing the Capitol to tweak the rules. For the first time, they say, the Capitol heard the cries and demands of the nation and acted. Not only the Capitol, we had people rooting for us all across Panem. And the Gamemakers listened to their cheers.

"We're in a pre-di-ca-ment." Haymitch slides open the compartment door with a crash and stumbles in, already intoxicated. It seems the 'refreshments' are still as to his taste as last year with Peeta and me as tributes.

I look up as he slides onto the bench opposite me, a small bottle of alcohol clutched in his hands.

"Put that down right now. We've trained all spring for this, you're ruining the small advantage we got with that wine," I say sternly. "If you don't, I'll call Effie."

He doesn't listen to me until he hears Effie's name, and then he shudders and screws the cap onto the glass bottle. I snatch it up as soon as it touches the table and place it on the empty leather seat next to me.

"So, we're in a predicament, that's obvious." I put my elbows on the table, ready to start thinking of strategies and solutions. "What type of predicament?"

It's strange to think of Haymitch as a fellow tribute, he will always be my sarcastic, shameless mentor. Anyways, he ticks them off on his fingers as he tells me.

"One, if we both die, District 12 will have no living victors or mentors. Two, Effie's going to have to handle the sponsors. Knowing that woman, we won't be getting much help. And three, I don't know if Cato volunteered, but if he did, there's no chance at all that both of you can come out…not again."

I stare at him expectantly, before he came barging in with his wine, I was thinking about these problems, it's no surprise.

"Yes, and your point is?" I am talking about number three, and he knows it.

"That you can't be acting like some lovesick, shallow, star-crossed little girl anymore! Last year the romance was your advantage, this year it will be your hindrance. You can't pretend that you're weak anymore, Katniss," he says in this loud, gruff voice. It is slightly unnerving that he can be so sensible even as those bloodshot eyes stare into mine and those callused hands tremble.

"What?" I say. _Shallow and lovesick? _If he's trying to insult me without me noticing, he failed.

"Don't play that card on me, I know you're not the giggling, blushing cling-along you are on camera. The way you've been brought up allows no time for the sort. You're a strong girl. Strong-willed, at least." Haymitch is serious, yet is evidently taking pleasure in his play of words.

"You just insulted me again!" I say. "I don't act like that all the time, it's just for the cameras."

"And when you're with Cato you start going soft too, silly girl. That's why it'll be dangerous for you to be near him this year, if he even is a tribute."

I have an urge to turn on the television right this instant to check if the recaps of the Reapings have come in yet. But of course not, they are probably still conducting them in Districts 1 and 2 right now. They start the reapings in districts closer to the Capitol later so that all of the tributes will arrive at around the same time in the Capitol. While it's a day's train ride from home, it's only a few hours trip from the Career districts.

"So you want me to avoid him, right?" I say, thinking it through.

"Yes. All of the other victors know that this is the year to be strong. You can't be the weak link in the chain. And…it's a matter of survival from now on. I know those people, they won't play nice because they feel for your romance. They're killers, and they can and will kill you if they have the chance."

Haymitch is right. This time I won't be up against other inexperienced children. These people that are being reaped are victors, they know how to kill and have no problem doing so.

I nod silently. Staying away from Cato is for the best. It's for the best. It is.

I continue repeating what Haymitch said to me in my mind as I stare out the window. When Effie calls us to dinner, I am determined and what I must do is branded in my memory. I must stay strong.

The meal's quiet. There are only the three of us, after all. There are long periods of silence that are only broken when new dishes are presented. Soup with bright blue berries floating on the filmy surface. Flat cakes with fish paste. Those tiny plump birds filled with sweet and sour sauce, with rice and watercress. Chocolate cake with slices of fruit.

It's the last dish that interests me the most. It's a stack of thin wafers piled one on top of the other. They look rather bland, but I take one anyways. And then I stare.

Because other than the innocent top wafer, all of them are stamped with the image of a mockingjay. My mockingjay, the one on my pin. This can't be right, why would they ever stamp a mockingjay on a wafer, of all things?

"Effie, did you order this?" I ask. She is admiring one of them, bringing it closer to her face and back again.

"I didn't, but they are rather funny, aren't they? Is that the bird on your pin? Oh, I forgot to tell you. I had my hair done to match your pin, Katniss. I was thinking that we could get Haymitch a gold bracelet and then we would look like a team," says Effie happily.

"Let me see that." Haymitch snatches one of the thin bread pieces up, nearly crumbling it. He's rather angry because Effie forbade him to drink any kind of wine during the meal. "Where is this from?"

The capitol attendants serving us- they don't allow Avox in fear that they will escape off the train- tell us that it is from District 11, and that they were not aware that the wafers were stamped.

Haymitch seems unhappy with the answer but doesn't say more.

"Anyways, shall we watch the recap of the reapings?" says Effie, dabbing at her mouth daintily with a linen naptkin.

"You might want to keep track, Katniss. Maybe in some kind of notebook," Haymitch suggests.

I almost snort. What, did he expect me to be one of those people who actually take notes in notebooks? That's what Peeta would probably do if he was with us right now. The idea didn't even occur to me.

"Erm, alright." I ask one of the attendants to bring me a sheet of paper and a pen, and then we gather in the compartment with the television to see who our competition will be in the arena.

We are all in place as the anthem plays and the annual recap of the reapings in all twelve districts begins. There have been seventy-four Games, seventy-five victors in all. Fifty-nine are living. I recognize many of their faces, from interviews and appearances and from seeing them as tributes or mentors. As expected, the pools from Career district 1, 2, and 4 are the largest. But every district has got at least one female and male victor.

From District 1, there is the beautiful brother and sister who were victors consecutive years from when I was little. I think that I lean forward as the scene shifts to the District 2 Justice Hall.

As soon as the female tribute's name is announced, Enobaria volunteers, jumping up and running to the stage. She grins her famous grin once she is affirmed as tribute.

The same thing happens with the male tribute. Before the escort is even finished with the name, two voices call out in unison. One is distinctly Cato's, cold and sounding like he couldn't care for the world. The other is Brutus, a large man who is at least forty and apparently was waiting for this chance for a while.

They stare at each other for a long moment, Brutus' fists raised and Cato not blinking. And then without a word, Brutus moves aside to let Cato pass and he goes up onstage as the tribute.

"Oh dear. That's never happened before," Effie says.

Rosalie is called from District 4, and she emerges from the pool of females and shakes hands with the escort, not looking at anyone. She's lovely as usual but casts her eyes downwards as the male tribute is called. It's some ancient victor from the early years, and when he hobbles forwards, Finnick Odair, the handsome bronze-haired victor crowned ten years ago at fourteen years old, volunteers.

As the two of them shake hands, I think that Rosalie might be crying.

Then there's Johanna Mason, who like me, is the only living female victor in her district, which is 7. A woman from 8 who leaves three kids to go up. Chaff, one of Haymitch's friends, from 11.

We look even smaller than I had felt onscreen. I'm called, and then Haymitch. It's done.

The announcers are shaking their heads sadly, and some of them even tear up because the odds are not in the favor for the star-crossed lovers from districts 2 and 12. Nor for the favorite pair from 4. Then they sniff a few more times, smile brightly, and say that "these will be the best Games ever!"

Effie makes a few comments about this tribute or that, and then says that "This isn't a good mix, I'm afraid. Or perhaps it is. Oh, I'm going to bed. You both should too, we have a big, big day ahead of us!"

She said the same thing when Peeta and I were on the train, and after the tribute parade. And although there's that same wide smile on her face, it sounds much different now. Much less cheerful and optimistic.

That night I wake up, shivering, from a nightmare where Cato is smiling and laughing, and then he suddenly is sneering with a bloodied face and sword. And then I think that he kills me. No one comes when I scream, not Effie or Haymitch or even one of those Capitol attendants.

I don't care how big of a day I have ahead of me, I'm not going to be able to fall back asleep. After ordering a glass of warm milk, I make my way to the television compartement and sit on the couch, staring at the box of videotapes on the little silver table in front of me. Past games. It would be wise to watch the ones featuring this year's victor-tributes. But after _that _dream, I don't believe that watching tapes of tributes brutally killing one another will help me calm down.

So instead, I bring my knees up to my chin and think about the rebellion and this year's Games. It was no coincidence that this year's tributes were chosen from victors, or that Rosalie's name was reaped. I wonder where she was for the past few months. From what I've heard, she'd appeared at no parties, dinners, and hadn't been seen anywhere in the Capitol or District 4. Yet today she was there at the reaping.

And then there was the matter of Cato. I have to avoid him and try not to get mixed up in any more of that "star-crossed lovers" drama. I wonder what he'll say to all this…does he even know about the uprisings?

* * *

**Cato:**

"Come _on_, Cato. Brutus and I've been waiting for this for years." Enobaria shoves me into the side of the train, a snarl on her lips. "Years, and you just _had _to volunteer? You already had your glory last year!"

I return her furious gaze with a calm stare as I ignore the throbbing in the shoulder I injured yesterday in training. She continues swearing and pressing me against the metal until Brutus intervenes, stepping between us.

"The boy has obligations to fill." He growls. "Either way, I'm coming with you two. In this case, as mentor."

"Oh, I don't care how many 'obligations' you appear to have. You are as good as dead, Cato," Enobaria attempts to land another blow.

"I thought it better for one of your trainees rather than friends to die in the arena," I say, pushing through their arms towards the train entrance. "Thank me later."

"He's got a point there. Let it go, 'Nobaria, the Capitol is waiting, and Snow isn't getting any younger over there."

As the glass door closes behind me, I can hear my former mentor chuckling. _He's not getting any older either_, I imagine her saying.

This is the same tribute train from last year, and the same dainty silverware and refreshments are set up on the mahogany tables. I remember Clove stuffing half a platter of these flower-shaped cheese crackers into her mouth and seeing if she could keep it in. Then she passed out drunk on my shoulder later that night when she drank a bottle of wine she thought was sparkling apple cider.

_Catooo…is cider supposed to taste like wine? Apples are red. I like cheese crackers, you should tryyy…I…I…It's so fuzzy around the edges. Fuzzy! I like fuzzy, reminds me of those spiky caterpillars you caught for me when I was a little…oh, shut up. Fine, little…er. I think I'm going to pass out. What do you mean I've been drinking wine? Stop laughing! I hate-…_

That's exactly what she said immediately before she started snoring. It's odd how little moments like that are the ones branded in my memory. They say you never know how much someone means to you until they're wrenched away from your grasp. And no matter how tight you may have tried to hold on, the pain of seeing them slip away is always waiting, fathomless and silent.

Katniss is the only female victor from her district. I've known since the reading. Enobaria and Brutus don't, they haven't gone through the records in years. She and her mentor are the only two victors, which is pathetic and unfortunate at the same time. One of the few things clear to me at this point in the procedure is that alone, the chances of her coming out are slim. Knowing the drunkard mentor, he's not allowing her to join the Careers again. After all, look how that idea finished with. His precious lover-boy tribute and the non-existent love affair dead, and Katniss clinging to me on the way out of the force-field.

Not what he wanted, but he's not the only person who had doubts. I shouldn't have let Katniss join our alliance if I knew she would unravel me and lay the strings out for all of the world. That girl's going to be the end of me. I know it. And I can only hope that that ball of yarn is too tightly rewoven for that little kitten to try again. Another thing they say is that curiosity killed the cat. But presently that is impossible for me to believe.

* * *

**Rosalie: **

"Oh please, Remmius. No, for the last time, I'm not going out there naked with a ridiculous starfish being the only thing keeping it from being full frontal nudity."

Knowing how stubborn my stylist can be with his 'revolutionary' fashion statements, I pick up said starfish and give him an oblique glare. No matter how many sponsors the idea may pull into the ever-growing pool, I refuse to give in. I may have no shame when it comes to my body but I cannot possibly believe that this will be a valid representation of District 4. Falling waves, sea foam and beautiful stormy skies, amber sands and the winds that stir it so. I could never capture any layer of that skillfully painted masterpiece wrapped in a million cloths, and Remmius believes that naked will do? Never.

"Finnick will be unclothed," he says simply. Unclothed, but not unconcealed. Finn would never agree to anything less. "Together you two will have an incredible impact."

I stand there in my thin robe, wriggling my toes to latch onto the sheepskin rug beneath our feet. It's a shame such a fine animal was killed for a something so meaningless.

"No." I picture the seashells, the traveling seashells that come and go with the tide, and the woven nets that cast empty and return replete with shimmering silver beings. "No. You don't understand. I know what I want, and we _will _go with it. Yes?"

Remmius sighs and the tattoos around his mouth move downwards. Even when he frowns it seems that a pleasant smile is still in place.

"Very well. However I must ask you one thing before we start."

I smile and leap forward to give him a tight hug, although I know it is violating his 'no touching the master' rule.

"Where have you been these past months? We've all been wondering, especially since you were entrusted to our care with tears running down your face," Remmius quickly says, arms tight at his sides in an attempt to partake in as little physical contact as possible.

I step away and look into those curious amber eyes lined with purple coldly. "Curiousity killed the cat. In this case, prying into Capitol affairs killed the stylist."

He stiffens and the questions end there. We sit down for lunch. The food looks delicious, carrots slathered with sweet sauce and topped with peppermint, a selection of finger-cakes, cheese puffs with bits of spinach, multicolored meatballs. I don't touch any of it when it rises out of the glass table. I haven't eaten anything so rich since before that…that interview with the president. I shake my head quickly to clear those dark memories out of my head. No, I can't think about that right now.

"Why aren't you eating? This is delectable!" I smile a bit as I watch Remmius eat happily, like a child taking their time picking out and using crayons.

"I have an enormous dinner party tonight after the Opening Ceremony." I say. "I'll speak while you enjoy yourself."

Beams of sunlight filters through the glass wall to our left and I lean back, closing my eyes. I start telling him what I want to wear, explaining the specific materials and the finer details regarding jewelry and hair. When I finish speaking and blink, the table is clear again and the stylist is staring at me with a look of awe. I forget that he's only a decade older than me, thirty or so. Most men are all the same anyways, stealing glances when I'm not aware. He quickly coughs and stands up.

"Let's get started, dear." I smile brightly, standing up as well. "We'll have splendid fun together."

He leaves to retrieve the materials and I am alone again.

This is all my fault. Finnick and Cato and Katniss…everybody else, they don't deserve this. It's not a chance to win again, it's punishment. My punishment cast on others. And now twenty-three of those wonderful people will be dead in weeks. Because of me and my naive thinking. Of course the president was angry that I didn't show up. I deserve to die, they don't.

Tonight. Tonight is important. Tonight sponsors are looking for tributes to support and I know that Finn and I need sponsors in the arena. Faithful sponsors that will lay their fortune at the feet of the gambling table to ensure that their tribute comes out of the arena alive.

Tonight their tribute will be Finnick Odair. I will make sure of it.

…

"Have Finn tie the last knot." I say, staring at the reflection in the mirror. I am as close to naked as humanly possible, with a net of knots laying low on my hips and two seashells over my breasts. One of my prep team is fumbling with the final tie in the fishing rope holding the barely-there top in place, and pauses at my demand, one hand holding the two ends of rope together.

"Please," I add, but the team is just looking at me, confused. Probably asking themselves why their hands are not sufficient enough for me, probably thinking that I am too demanding. I am, I know I am.

Thankfully Remmius returns a moment later with the pair of shoes I requested ready in his hands, and I repeat myself. He sends one of them, the woman with rose-colored skin, down to Electra's floor of the Remake Center. She was the one who worked on Finnick during the 65th annual Hunger Games.

While we wait I slip into the shoes, feet arching to accommodate the steep heel. It's a lovely feeling, being doted upon and made up. I'll probably have rope burn marks all over my body after tonight. The bikini-like costume is tight to avoid an accidental slip, and the rough material digs uncomfortably into my skin. _Pain is beauty._

"Rose? Rosalie?" That voice. Velvet and satin and oh, I can't suppress a little shiver that runs through me when I hear my name being spoken in that voice. I hastily turn and nearly trip over a snag in the carpet, simultaneously ripping the two ends of rope out of the prep team member's hands.

My hands fly to my chest and I take a step to keep from falling, the feeling of heat rushing into my cheeks. Finnick's watching all of this with a radiant, amused grin on his face. He's the only one who can cause me to act like this, and the prep team is staring at me with a look of shock on their faces.

I compose myself and straighten up, hands moving to the untied knot behind me. Then, in a calm voice, I say, "That rug's a health hazard. I suggest you remove it immediately."

Finn laughs and for the first time I notice what he's wearing. A net is draped over his body, knots tactfully placed over his groin. He's barefoot and I watch his feet move closer as he walks towards me and carefully ties the final knot tightly.

"You look beautiful," he purrs in my ear. "I heard you refused to your stylist's suggestions. Too bad, because all the best parts are hidden now."

"Mhmm, and they say that great minds think alike. You look amazing. I would tap that in a heartbeat," I reply, unable to keep a smile off my lips as I touch his shoulder through the net. It's almost time for the ceremony, the sky is darkening. "It's ironic how we attract more attention like this than with some gorgeous costume on."

"You have, darling." Finnick smirks and then his expression softens. "And if what you're wearing isn't gorgeous, nothing is." We head down to the ground floor where the huge gathering place for tributes and their chariots is housed.

Almost half of the tributes are there already, most in groups talking to each other, laughing. I see Johanna is complaining about her costume. Before I leave him, I nudge Finnick and say, "I don't know why you waste all your good pick-up lines on me."

But he just smiles and I am reminded of why I must get those sponsors tonight, of why I'm even bothering to try. I know this year will be my last, but Finnick cannot die. Not in the 75th Hunger Games, and not in any other.

* * *

**Katniss:**

Dramatic highlights and deep shadows. Arching eyebrows, defined cheekbones, smoldering, intense eyes, dark purple lips. My signature braid and a black jumpsuit.

Then my simple attire comes to life, slowly flowing with soft golden light like honey and gradually merging into the ever-changing orange red of burning coal. The colors shift and blend, rise and fall, falter and flare in the exact way the coals do in our fireplace back home.

I stare at the flickering fabric, completely entranced until Cinna presses the button on the inside of my sleeve again and once again the costume is still and dark. It seems so dull in this state after I've seen what it can become, what it can transform me into. An ember, a dark, burning ember.

I am still the girl on fire. But the flames, candlelight and pretty dresses are no more. This is what I need to show them that I am strong, that I am not just a piece in their games, not just a mindless girl following their rules.

"Thank you," I say to Cinna, and he nods. "I'll need this tonight."

After Octavia, Venia, and Flavius finally compose themselves after bursting into tears once more, I start downstairs to the ground floor where we wait until the parade starts. When I arrive I see that while during other years tributes kept to themselves and stuck with their chariots, tonight everyone is gathered around each other, talking. I wasn't sure if there were mentors this year, considering all the tributes have been through this before, and it seems that some districts sent mentors and some didn't. I feel out of place here and hope that Haymitch will hurry it up and get down here already. It's not like I can go talk to Cato when he arrives either, I'm avoiding him, remember? These people all know one another and I know no one. I'm not exactly the type to go running towards the most social groups either, so I just find my chariot and stroke one of my horses and try not to stand out.

I guess with me being the only one lingering near their chariot, I do stand out, because moments later the sound of crunching fills my ears. I turn around and find myself face to face with the famous sea green gaze of Finnick Odair. He places a sugar cube on his tongue and I see it begin to melt in between his blinding white teeth before he closes his mouth and leans against my horse.

"Hello Katniss," he says, as if we've known each other for years. I can't help but notice that his hair is messy and golden as always.

"Hello Finnick," I reply cautiously, knowing full well that this is the first time we've ever met. I'm feeling uncomfortable at his close proximidity, even more so since he's practically naked. I think that he knows that I'm squirming beneath my casual exterior mask.

"Want a sugar cube?" he asks, holding out his hand, which is piled full of the white cubes. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got years to eat sugar, wheras you and I…well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it quick."

I can see why the sponsors were practically climbing over each other to buy him gifts during the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games when he won. At only fourteen, he was still extraordinarily handsome, although more so now that he's matured. Tall, athletic and lean, with golden skin and bronze hair and those impossibly alluring eyes. No wonder he won, while other tributes were close to starving, he never wanted for anything, how could he when food and medicine and weapons were being lavished upon him through his long line of sponsors? He was a good fighter and smart enough to know how to take care of himself even without any of those gifts, and by the time his opponents realized that he was the one to target, it was over. He'd already killed plenty of them with the spears and knives he had found at the Cornucopia, and after a trident floated down into his arms-which must have cost a fortune, considering it was coated with gold-they were all good as dead. The crown was his in a matter of days.

The citizens of the Capital have been fervently lusting after him ever since.

The first few years they couldn't really touch him, he was merely a child, Panem said. But since the day he turned sixteen, all he's done during his days in the Capital is being pursued by those desperately in love with him, in other words, half of the wealthy women here. No one keeps his interest for long, no matter if they are old or young, beautiful or plain, rich or very rich, he will take their luxurious gifts but never stays. Even though he tells the cameras he loves Rosalie more than anything, new faces pass through his arms like water. Once he leaves, he's gone and never looks back.

There's no denying that Finnick may just be one of the most marvelous beings on earth, but for some reason I've never found myself too attracted to him. Maybe he's just too perfect, or too easy to win over, or maybe too easy to lose.

"No, thanks," I say to his outstretched hand. "I'd love to borrow your outfit sometime, though."

He's draped in this golden net that is knotted to cover his groin. Not technically naked, but it is certainly cutting it close. If he's dressed like this I wonder what Rosalie is wearing. I guess with tributes this beautiful, the stylists would want to have the audience see more bare skin and less fabric.

"You're absolutely terrifying in that getup. What ever happened to the pretty little-girl dresses?" he asks, and it's as if there is a purr hidden beneath his voice. He is looking down at me through half-lidded eyes, golden lashes long. I think I do something rude like roll my eyes when he wets his lips, but I'm not sure. Probably drives most people crazy, but I just think it's silly that he's trying so hard to flirt, when I couldn't care for the world.

"We all outgrow things," I say.

Finnick chuckles and reaches his slim fingers towards my neck and I am just about to jump away when he rubs the collar of my costume between his fingers. "It's too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted, really."

"Jewels don't appeal to me, and I have more money than I need. What do you spend yours on, anyway, Finnick?" I say.

"Money…oh, I haven't dealt with anything as common as that for years," he replies, still running his fingers over my collar. When his fingers brush against my neck I have an instinct to shove him away. Always half in the arena, I guess.

"Then how do they pay you for the pleasure of your company?" I ask.

"With secrets," he says softly, tipping his head so his barely parted lips are almost touching mine. "What about you, girl on fire. Do you have any secrets worth my time?"

He's too close, and I feel my face getting red. But I force myself to keep talking. "No, everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself."

He smiles. "Unfortunately, I think that's true." His eyes move towards something off to the side. "Cato is coming. Sorry you both were reaped, I know you two didn't have much time together, it's rather devastating." He tosses another sugar cube into his mouth and is about to saunter off but I say, "Wait," and he turns with a smirk.

"That goes for you and Rosalie as well, doesn't it?" I say. If he really does love her as much as he says, he must feel the same way about his situation.

"Hmm, I wonder..." Then he leaves without finishing the thought.

I look around the room and Cato is indeed there, having just arrived with Enobaria and Brutus, he must be their mentor this year. His companions quickly leave to join one of the larger groups, and he turns his head to latch his gaze to mine before following them. I stay where I am and observe from afar. He's avoiding me too, I know it. Better for the both of us then, it'll be easier to stay away from one another.

As he nears the group, a figure emerges from the center of it and almost half the tributes follow her. As expected, it's none other than Rosalie Darling. She grabs his wrist and drags Cato towards the side of the room, where I watch them talk and laugh. Just like Finnick was, she's flirting. I wonder what she's saying to him. Whatever it is, it seems to be working. Either that or her costume, which, like Finnick's, reveals far too much bare skin.

She is wearing nothing more than lingerie, albeit the fact it's District 4 themed, with knots and rope holding starfish and bits of seaweed being her bottom half and seashells and more net-like material over her chest. Even her long wavy hair is chalk full of starfish and shells and such.

It's unbelievable how well Finnick and her go together. At fifteen years of age, she won the Seventieth Hunger Games in an alarming way. During interviews she claimed she was simply a merchant's daughter, untalented when it came to combat and weapons, but her scores in training and performance in the arena said quite the opposite. With her bright personality, she won herself female sponsors. With her lithe beauty; night-dark waves of long hair, pale skin and almost exotic large sapphire eyes, she charmed the male sponsors into giving up their wallets for lustful dreams. She never needed their gifts, although they certainly helped. Being part of the Career pack, the leader, an athletic male from 1, took a fancy to her and made sure she was never too uncomfortable. Yet, she was the one who killed him. Him and most of the Careers. Through their hunting of the other tributes, she already proved she was lethal with knives. When tensions started increasing within the pack, she volunteered to keep watch one night, and stabbed all of them in their sleep before they even knew what was happening. Then she went on to befriend one of the remaining male tributes and did the same to him. The last tribute in the arena with her was killed when she climbed a tree and threw her weapon down.

Like Finnick, she's been sought by wealthy Capitol citizens the moment she was out of the arena. But unlike him, she does not take whoever comes her way, but instead seems to pass her days with handsome men of her choosing. Sometimes her affairs last days, sometimes months.

"Are you even aware that you're scowling?" Haymitch's gruff voice comes from my right and I frown at him. "That's how those two make people like them. Maybe you should try it out too."

"Not funny. Where were you?" I growl.

"I was talking to some of my friends while Finnick was making your skin crawl. Getting filled in on news." Haymitch's expression darkens, he's just heard about the uprisings.

"I wouldn't be surprised if that Rosalie girl was locked up the past months for starting this big a rebellion. It's crazy. Even worse than District 12."

"What happened to her?" I say.

"Don't know. She refuses to tell anyone," he grunts.

"Oh." I say. "So, we're acting high and mighty, right? No smiling or waving or anything. I wonder how Portia even got you to agree to this costume."

"Hmph," is his reply. He wanders away towards Chaff and a few other tributes, and once again I'm standing alone with my horses, trying not to be noticed. I've had enough attention for today, I don't think that I can stand even more.

* * *

**Cato:**

"Oh, this is such a pretty trinket. Is that real gold?" Rosalie asks, curious eyes fixed on the gold collar resting on my shoulders. Yvenne decided to be an idiot and had Enobaria and I dressed as people from some ancient utopian society called Egypt.

"Is that real fishing net?" I reply with a question of my own, a smile forming on my lips. She's barely dressed and doesn't seem to be fazed in the very least by wandering eyes.

"No," she replies softly, running her hands over the patterns on the collar. Her hands suddenly move down my side and stopping at my hips, where a gold belt holds up a kilt. I smirk at the feeling of her fingers brushing against my bare skin.

"Tell me, dear, Cato. What do you think of my costume?" Rosalie tosses her hair and moves both hands up again to place them on my stomach, blinking slowly and wearing a devious smile.

"It's…" I look down at her and can't deny that the view is quite something. "It's…very…" I can't think of words to tell her, which is a first. I can't tell her the truth without sounding like some perverted freak.

She laughs and wraps her arms around my back, stomach pressing against mine. I have to hold in a small hiss at the feeling of her skin against mine.

"Oh please, go ahead and touch me if you want." She is still laughing and says it like it's nothing at all.

I carefully edge away, knowing that we're being watched by nearly everyone at this point.

"Rosalie, where have you been for the past few months?" I ask, lifting my head to keep from touching her hair with my chin. God, I can't do anything with this girl if Katniss is staring us down from her perch over there. I can feel her scowl from thirty feet away.

Rosalie does nothing but press herself closer to me. "Shhh. It doesn't matter. And…call me Rose, dear."

"Enobaria's walking towards us," I say, pushing her away. She smiles and doesn't seem offended at all, simply amused, I can tell by the way she is pursing her lips.

"You know, if it weren't for this Quell, we could have turned out differently," Rosalie purrs.

I hear Enobaria bellowing. "Cato! Get away from that freak!"

"That's my cue to leave. Good luck with the sponsors, there are only so many to go around." She winks and is gone, gliding into Finnick Odair's arms and onto her chariot.

…

She's daunting. Daunting and unforgiving. Our chariot stops in front of the president's balcony and I can't help but turn to watch District 12 burning, flickering and rolling down the walkway. Katniss stares ahead, unblinking and still, a living ember, something that belongs at the base of a roaring fire, not on the red velvet. That may be why she and her mentor seem so powerful and untouchable. They are beings from somewhere else, nothing the Capitol has ever seen. And they can't tear their eyes away.

Snow's eyes flick from one side to another as she passes him on the final trip around the circle. I tighten my grip on the chariot bar. It's the way I see him looking at Rosalie. Like prey that needs to be caught.

"Don't talk to her." The moment we stop at the foot of the training center Enobaria puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me from stepping off the chariot.

"Yes," I say softly. Katniss is standing quietly besides her horses while Haymitch guffaws with the one-armed tribute from 11. She looks terribly lonely, and when she turns those grey eyes to me, I look away. "Let's go in."

I keep my eyes straight ahead when I pass the District 12 chariot and Katniss makes no move to get my attention. It is better this way. She's avoiding me too. As Enobaria and I step through the glass doors, Rosalie calmly walks over to her and says something I can't catch.

_This is for the best, she won't get hurt this way. She won't be hurt by me. _I think once we are in the elevator. But…if I'm not there, who will be there for her? I can only imagine.

* * *

_So, Rosalie's POV. I hoped that I could help everyone understand her better by doing this, but I'm not sure if I should continue with her segments. Perhaps some Finnick POV as well? I thought the conversation between him and Katniss was too wonderfully written to change, so I just tweaked it a bit. Thanks for taking the time to read and please review._


	3. Somebody that I Used to Know

**A/N:** OH MY GOODNESS I've been so incredibly busy these few weeks, and I'm so sorry that I haven't been able to update. Actually I just finished writing this chapter today. I had originally written a 15 page chapter and then completely tore that down and started a new one.

I realize that this is not my best, and that I sorely need to reread Catching Fire and get a hold of Katniss' personality again. Please review and tell me what you think! If enough people ask, I will definitely update within 10 days. :)

Enjoy, and please **review**!

* * *

_But you didn't have to cut me off_  
_Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing_  
_And I don't even need your love_  
_But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough_

_..._

**Katniss:**

"You have one job today. Make some friends. We need allies this time around, lots of them." Haymitch twists his golden bangle in an irritated way as he talks.

"Why?" I say. "I'm not good at making people like me. Can't we just stick with your friends?"

"Listen up, sweetheart. We need _allies _because your competitors have known each other for years so _you _are the one they'll target first!" The elevator beeps and we zoom downwards towards the floor between District 6 and 7, where the training facility is.

"But there's no way I will be able to override old friendships. And the Career pack is off limits, so why bother?"

"Because you can fight! You're popular with the crowd! If you let them know you're willing to team up with them, you can still make some desirable allies!" he exclaims roughly.

"The desirable allies are the Careers," I mutter. The tributes from 1,2, and 4 usually join forces, sometimes taking in a few remarkable fighters. Then they pick off the weaker tributes one by one.

"Exactly, which is why I want you to persuade Finnick and Rosalie to team with you and some others," he says.

"Are you serious? That's impossible, everyone wants those two!"

He continues, silencing me with a glare. "I'll be with Seeder and Chaff, you just go work your magic, sweetheart."

"I hate you," I scowl as we enter through the doorway. I have a growing suspicion that Haymitch is just going to fool around all morning with his friends, leaving me to do all the work.

"Everyone's a victor, Katniss. Choose who you'd like. Just make sure you've got one of them on your side, the other will follow. And avoid District 2 at all costs, they can't be trusted."

And like that, we hustle into an…empty room. Only Cato and Enobaria are present. And Effie was fussing over us, making us wake up early to be ready for our "exciting day". Enobaria flashes a savage grin in our direction, brandishing her cosmetically altered fangs.

"Working your magic, love?" Cato drawls, smirking at me. "Don't try it on us, because we obviously can't be trusted, can we?"

For a brief second I wonder how he was able to hear our conversation from across the dark room and through a set of doors, but then I feel a surge of annoyance.

"Shut the hell up," I

He just blinks as Enobaria makes several infuriating comments about District 12 and their 'filthy little rats'.

I want nothing more than to slap them both across the face, but instead turn tail and stalk away.

…

An hour later at ten o'clock, only a dozen or so tributes have shown up. Atala, the head training instructor, is unfazed by the lack of attendance and goes on to explain the rules and run through the list of stations.

I decide to brush up on a few skills and perhaps root out other useful allies, and head to the ropes course. Last year all the Careers were lining up for their turn, but it's early so no one is there other than Seeder, the female from District 11. She looks like she could be from the seam with her olive skin and dark hair, save the golden eyes. She is grabbing onto the net and moving across the room with some difficulty, she is strong but being sixty years old has stolen nimbleness from her.

I grab on to the ropes as well and find it easy to move. After years of climbing trees and crouching between branches to wait for prey, these sturdy ropes are not difficult. After a few minutes of moving around and lifting myself up to latch onto the net, I realize that there is someone watching me.

"Hello Katniss." Rosalie says. It is the smooth, low voice she used when talking to us during the celebration in President Snow's mansion. I remember it rising in volume and pitch when she was arguing with the president.

I drop to the ground, landing lightly on my feet. She looks splendid as usual, midnight black hair sweeping at her waist in little waves. Even without her ridiculously high-heeled shoes she is tall and lush, and even without makeup her fine features are evident. But her uniform looks slightly strange on her, she is fit for silk and finery, jewels and impossible shoes; and the simple black suit seems bland.

"Hello." I say back cautiously. Haymitch wants me to convince her or Finnick to join my own pieced together alliance, yet I am not sure I want her. Maybe it was the way she laughed and acted so innocent in the beginning of her year and then turned on everyone.

She just smiles and then with a little wave whisks away to the next station over where the District 6 tributes are swirling their yellowed hands through paint and staring at the mess they create with huge dark eyes.

Rosalie kindly bends down to be eye to eye with them, and then dips her finger in the colors and carefully paints a fish on the female's forehead. Both of the morphing addicts smile and their sagging skin flaps while fitting their new expressions.

Then when the black haired victor stands up and climbs the agility course to talk to Gloss and Cashmere, the District 1 tributes, I understand why she is being so friendly to so many. She is ensuring that no matter who is left standing after the Bloodbath, each will have some small memory of her kindness and think back to it when the time came.

It could be the difference between life or death, a spare or a kill, an ally or an enemy.

I remember Cato once telling me that he didn't ever want to be controlled or be a player in some type of game. But now I see that if you aim to win, play you must.

So I move on to the fire-making station where the pair from 3 are struggling to start a flame, and show them how to rub the wood together to create sparks. Their names are Beetee and Wiress, Wiress has a strange habit of dropping off in the middle of her sentences to stare at something happening in the room, and Beetee seems far too intelligent for me to keep up with.

As I talk with them, I feel a pair of eyes on my back, but when I look over to the Careers at the weapon range; Cato is nonchalantly throwing a bronze knife into the air and catching it again.

"I haven't had a chance to thank you for the wonderful ring you devised for me, Beetee."

I am still watching the knife flash in the dim blue light when the silky voice cuts through the sound of sparks flying from the fire. It's Rosalie again, still making her little rounds. Beetee seems to be very fond of her in a fatherly way. He goes into a lavish description of the materials used and how he was able to engineer and fit a motor and flashlight into the tiny silver thing.

"Wow. Well, it fits very well, thank you. And Wiress, dear, if you strike those flint stones at an angle a fire should start up rather quickly," she says, looking as stunned as I am at Beetee's long words and scientific approach to everything.

Wiress obediently grinds the surface of the stone across the other, in precisely the way I was trying to teach her to. A spark issues from the two stones and a small fire leaps up. Rosalie claps softly. "There you are, dear."

"So, Rosalie…" I start, this is the perfect opportunity to suggest analliance. Both District 3 tributes seem to be very familiar with her, and they could be very good allies. Even if they are not the most physically fit, like Haymitch said, everyone here is a victor.

"Yes?"

"Have you decided on any alliances yet?" I ask.

"Yes...District 4 will be with the Careers, as usual. Why do you ask, dear?" Her voice looses some of its luster when she addresses me and it is back to the almost haughty calm. I wonder how those close to her can stand hearing that strange half accent so often.

"Just wondering," I reply, heart sinking a bit. Perhaps I can still piece together a formidable group of allies. There is Seeder, Chaff, maybe Johanna. I might be able to snag these two geniuses as well.

"But…aren't you joining us? Cato will make sure of that, no? I would invite you in a heartbeat but we all know that I'm in no position to take such advances."

_Well, _no_. I'm not joining the Careers because both Enobaria and Haymitch would kill me _and_ Cato would probably despise me. And _no_, even if I could join them you are not in any position to make decisions like that considering that you were the one to cause this entire mess. _

I am about to say that but quickly shut my mouth and suffice with a tight-lipped smile bordering a scowl.

When I do not reply Rosalie brushes a long wavy strand of black hair away from her face and glance over at the Careers, looking uncomfortable. "Oh." She says, looking at Cato's careful intensity with the spear. He is obviously purposely not glancing in this direction. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that you two are…"

"Done." I mutter, finishing for her. She cringes at my venomous tone but I keep on scowling.

After apologizing again she ruefully floats towards Finnick, who is poised like a cat, ready to jump at Johanna at the combat station. He is obviously reluctant to strike, with the fact that Johanna is completely naked and slathered in oil.

Finally Finnick finishes the match, jerking the District 8 tribute's arms back as he pins her down. She swears loudly and he helps her up, then exits the mat, collar ruffled and wavy golden bronze hair mussed.

"Katniss!"

Cashmere and Gloss, the brother and sister from 1, invite me over to the hammock station. We make polite conversation about how the food's been, how the weather's been, the opening ceremony. They are both cool and easy to talk to, but don't seem to be interested in me as an ally. My hammock and attempt to make friends are mediocre.

I go to the edible insects station with the District 8 tributes, Cecelia who's got three kids at home, and Woof, a really old guy who doesn't seem to know what he's doing. He's hard of hearing and keeps on stuffing poisonous bugs into his mouth. The training instructor has her hands full with him, and I talk to Cecelia for a while. She has a motherly sense, gentle and kind. I decide to add her to my list of possible allies.

…

**Rosalie:**

Johanna looks positively murderous. As Finnick walks towards me, wiping his oiled hands on his pants, he smirks back at her.

"Watch your back, Finnick. I'll be coming for you in the arena," she bellows. I suppress a smile, she wouldn't dare. If anything she'd join up with us once the worst of the bloodshed was over.

We walk towards the weapon range, where Gloss and Cashmere are now practicing. Enobaria is tackling an instructor at one of the combat stations and Cato is coldly talking to one of the morphlings. One of them must have stopped him on his way to a station. The poor dear, she's just trying to make friends.

"Finn, will you talk to Katniss please? She would make a wonderful ally but I do admit that she's a bit hard to talk to."

He looks down at me, brilliant eyes filled with darker greens and patches of gold. Under dramatic lighting people see an intense smoldering green, but really they are pale and changing and…gorgeous. Like the sea.

"Even for you?" He chuckles and places a finger on my nose, sliding it down to stay on my glossed mouth. "Even with lips of gold?"

"Oh please…go talk to her." I shake his finger off and placing my hands on his waist, turn him around in the direction of the knot-tying station, where Katniss is.

"I'd rather stay with you, Darling."

"Go!" I push him forwards, fingers pressing against the tendons in his shoulders, and he grins before moving across the floor and hovering over Katniss' shoulder. Finnick will accomplish one of two things with a girl like Katniss. She will be annoyed or feel slightly exuberant. Now he is pretending to hang himself with a length of rope.

I think she's annoyed.

He should have sweet-talked her instead. Hearing a clang from the weapon range, I realize that I've been loitering in the middle of the marble floor for almost a minute, probably seeming incredibly forlorn and jealous.

I head towards Cato and the woman from 6.

"…the most beautiful colors. Do you want to try?" She is offering to camouflage his arm.

He seems to soften at her hopeful stance. "That's very nice. But not now," he says distractedly, looking towards the combat station, where a small crowd has gathered. It's Haymitch and Enobaria, something that one simply can _not _miss.

"Do you like flowers?" The morphling smiles innocently, still half floating in her own secluded world.

'I…" Cato sighs impatiently.

I step in between them. "We'll be back right away and you can paint both of our arms. Is that alright, dear? Just a few minutes."

She knows me and a slow sloppy smile spreads across her face. She nods in consent and I grasp Cato's wrist and pull him towards the spectacle. He's different from the last time I saw him. Not as bulky in muscle, more naturally lean. His face is slimmer too, and his hair longer ,although it still stands up in little golden tufts. I cannot call him beautiful like I can others, but I can say that he is gorgeous. And I feel a strange attraction to him.

"C'mon. Let's go watch Haymitch kick Enobaria's ass." I giggle, and from the expression on his face, he never expected me to say such a thing. "Don't be so shocked dear, it's not like I'm perfect."

"Of course not. You probably say worse in the dark," he smirks, and I let go of his wrist and shove him as hard as I can, making sure to dig my nails into his arm in the process. He skids a foot or two, but I know that it's only because he didn't expect it.

"You are infuriating." I leave him there, his fading smirk showing how confused he is.

…

**Katniss:**

"Hello beautiful."

I roll my eyes and continue tugging at the stubborn piece of rope in front of me. Last year I impressed the training instructor with my knowledge of snares, and this year he is teaching me more complicated, sturdier ones.

Finnick Odair is hovering at my shoulder, purring in his honey-like voice and breathing in my ear. He is as usual, inexplicably handsome with his soft bronze locks and golden skin, smelling of luxury and romance.

"Do you commission people to make your perfumes, Finnick?" I say without turning my head. I try to loop the rope over itself to create a heaving line knot; the instructor said that a more complicated tie like this one would not let any prey escape, no matter how they struggled. Not much point in learning it before my death in the arena, and even if I _do _make it home, the fence is electrified now, but I have been to almost every station other than the combat and weapon range.

"No…they give them to me," he murmurs, long fingers already on mine, smoothly finishing the knot in mere seconds. I watch as he then loosens and releases the entire string of knots I had been working on and tie new, complicated ones. I see the shape of a fish starting to form, but he lets the length of rope go slack and fall into my lap.

"Tell me, which flowers do you prefer? Daisies? Lilacs?" Finnick changes the subject, tying a noose and pretending to hang himself, dramatically dropping his head like the dead would.

"Katniss," I say, ignoring his act. I explain, "The plant I was named after."

"Oh, _Sagittaria __sagittifolia__._ Otherwise known as Katniss. They suit you," he lifts his head and chuckles. "I tend to have a fondness for-"

"Roses, I know," I interrupt. He is charming and all, but I cannot help but think that this is how he converses with all that he may or may not fancy. Surely he is not genuinely interested in such petty preferences. Already I can sense the conversation nearing it's turn over to what he holds most dear. His precious Rose.

"Actually I have always loved Cannas. But roses are indeed glorious."

I arch an eyebrow, does he spend his time traipsing through extravagant gardens here in the Capitol? I can imagine him smiling down at some ostentatious woman, strolling between rows of rosebushes.

I am about to ask him how he knows of so many flowers, but there is suddenly a scuffling of running feet on the other side of the training center, near the combat station. I turn and sigh at the sight. What the hell has Haymitch gotten himself into now?

"Excuse me," Finnick says, leaning back from my shoulder and striding away, obviously looking for someone. I have no time to humor him any longer anyways, instead I'm off to save Haymitch's neck before Enobaria destroys him. I hurry towards the match, where Haymitch is completely drunk, swaying on his feet and being urged on by Chaff, who is also drunk. Enobaria, on the other hand, is ready to go, hands already up in position.

Cato slips through a pair of tributes and is saying something to Enobaria, so I quickly appear next to Haymitch and try to talk sense into him.

"Hey, you can't do this. You're drunk…and no, Chaff, he's not up to it," I snap at Chaff, who is still hollering out support.

But instead of listening to me, Haymitch walks a drunken, shaky circle and passes out.

…

**Cato:**

"We are allies, right?" Finnick Odair stops me as the tributes stream through the double doors into the training center's dining hall. He is sharp and polite, and I reply with the same amount of coldness.

"Nothing is decided, although District 4 is much to be coveted."

I brush past him and smirk at his expression, it is a polite smile barely concealing the annoyance underneath. As if I was in position to snatch his beautiful little companion out of his arms.

The food is placed around the room on the same silver carts as last year, and there is a rush for the best plates. I smirk at myself, once I was like that, too concerned in what would be for lunch and who would get first pickings. There are more important things to strive for now. I notice that it is mostly the outlying dirt poor districts that have their tributes sampling every dish. They must not have food nearly as good as it is here even in their Victor Villages.

Katniss is furiously scowling at her district partner, I don't blame her, the fool humiliated both of them by practically fainting. Enobaria was not fazed although slightly repulsed at "the state of these idiots". And they_ are_idiots, all of them who turn to pills and shots when they can't bear reality any longer. Idiots and fools for thinking they could ever truly escape this...this pain and never fading past. No matter how much they swallow, when they wake everything is still laid out there.

"Hey, are you eating or not?" The district 7 female, the one with the short spiked hair, addresses me in a loud, demanding voice. She is balancing two plates of food piled high and purposely slurps up a noodle and smacks her lips as loud as she can. "The food's amazing, too bad it's almost gone."

"So is your status if you dress like that," I retort calmly, starting to fill a plate. She is still naked and streaks of oil run across her face.

"Huh. As is your virginity if you let Rosalie work her charm." A loud slurp immediately follows and I roll my eyes, selecting a roll of bread from the woven basket. They've installed an impressive glass pane in the place of one of the old granite walls, and the hall with its array of circular mahogany tables is bathed in afternoon light.

I turn and meet her rebellious glare with an icy stare. "I don't have any to begin with."

"Oh, I just _love _being a part of some sassmaster's comebacks," someone comments drily behind me.

"Stay out of this Rosalie, this guy skewered both my tributes last year," District 7 barks. I smirk and move on towards the meat. This girl is crazy, even Enobaria, who rages for hours when one of her precious trained tributes are slaughtered, knows better than to pick a fight with the victor when they visited District 2.

"Good for you, Johanna. Now could you move so I can get a plate?" Johanna rolls her eyes quite obviously, sticking out her tongue, but she moves aside.

Rosalie continues casually, piling salad and a single roll of bread onto her plate. "And if I recall correctly, it was also your tribute that stabbed mine in the back during the bloodbath. Since you're so keen on revenge, well…aren't you allergic to watermelon?"

I snicker, and when she hands me a slice of the fruit, eyes large and devious under dark eyelashes, I whip it at Johanna's exposed stomach. It makes a squelching sound on impact and slides down her abdomen.

Rosalie starts giggling and then breaks into full-fledged laughter, burying her face into my shoulder as she shakes with high peals of it. I grin at Johanna, knowing full well that it comes off as a challenge.

"Go eat a hog," she spits, looking down at the slice. She balances both plates on one hand and grabs a leg of pork from a nearby platter. Rosalie makes a little shrieking sound, and I remember that she's a very paranoid animal lover and vegetarian. She abandons her plate and dashes away through the crowd of tributes looking for tables, pulling me along.

"I have three dinners to attend tonight anyways!" she exclaims as we sit down at the Career table.

"You're spoiled," I mutter.

She laughs and takes a dainty seat on her district partner's lap, stretching a hand to smooth down Gloss' hair.

I tune into the conversation between Enobaria and Cashmere. They are describing various scenes from past years and snickering. I join in with as must enthusiasm as I can fake.

"I do worse in the dark, dear."

I don't react and continue talking about the use of poison in the arena. One of the tributes here, it was the olive-skinned female that Haymitch is sitting with, that brought down many of her opponents with a combination of tracker jacker venom and knives.

"I do."

…

"Don't talk to that girl," Enobaria says. She is lounging on the white leather sofa in the suite, watching films of previous Games. I smile when one of the tributes plunges his knife into the eye of another. Blood and glory are everywhere in these games, an addicting sport only known to those who practice it often.

"Don't waste your breath. I'm not interested in Katniss anymore," I sigh. She's so damn annoying. She was my trainer, my mentor. But she is not my friend. She knows nothing about me or what I aim for.

"Hmph. I never said you couldn't be." She shifts position and growls. "Anything would be better than that manipulative, snakelike little beauty queen."

"You hold an invalid grudge," Brutus suddenly interrupts. "That 'beauty queen' used her advantage to her benefit. Not even your brother could resist her, how can you expect Cato to?"

"He was supposed to win! He told me the day before he went in that he would win! For me, for our district!" She is standing now, fists balled and eyes narrow with fury.

"Move, you're blocking the screen," I say in a bored tone. Everyone back home knows that Skene, Enobaria's little brother, was the pride and joy of her life. Or more accurately, the pride and joy of the training center. I remember looking up to him. Too bad he fell for District 4's antics, dead in a splattering of red.

Enobaria turns and grabs my shirt, pulling me up so our faces are inches apart. She is seething with anger and desire for revenge.

"Cato, you will be killed by one of two people." She tightens her grip and I turn my head to the side to avoid contact. "Me, or that wretched girl."

Brutus is grinning, I know even as my head is turned and eyes fixed on the mahogany table. He says, "We all know who you would prefer."

…

**Katniss:**

"I doubt District 4 will stay with the Careers. Enobaria hates the girl," Haymitch belches and leans back in his chair, sipping on his wine. Effie opens her mouth as if to reprimand him, but then closes it daintily, instead dabbing at her lipstick with a linen napkin.

"Enobaria hates everyone," I say. "But other than District 4, I met a few other tributes. I want District 3 as allies. Wiress and Beetee."

"Ha! Those two? They're something of a joke to the others," he guffaws.

"They're smart. They invent things. They told me by sight that there was a force field between us and the Gamemakers. If we have to have allies, I want them."

"Johanna's nicknamed them Nuts and Volts."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must be stupid for thinking they might be useful. Because of something Johanna Mason said while she was oiling her legs," I snap.

"Well, I think that you should make friends with Cecelia. She's very nice," Effie offers.

We are all silent for a moment. Haymitch disapproves of my choice for allies, Effie has little to no idea. And quite frankly, I'm hoping that Finnick and Rosalie will stay with the Careers. I couldn't bear their excess charm for so long. Then again, they both are very friendly. Emphasis on 'very'.

"I'm not hungry," I say, standing up. My chair screeches against the floor. I leave the dining room and pad down the carpeted hall into my room. It's the same as before, black floral wallpaper, gold flooring. Even the silky turquoise sheets are the same.

For some reason the window is set to show the forests of District 12. I pick up the remote and slam my hand down on the button. The sound of birds and the rustle of trees is replaced by the bustle of the streets here in the Capitol. I don't remember changing the scene. Maybe it was Effie. She has nothing to do but attend tea parties and sit stiffly and ladylike here, with two tributes weighing down on her. She must be completely clueless as to what to do. Haymitch will probably have to explain to her how to persuade sponsors and influence the Gamemakers.

I turn around to look into the huge, gold-framed mirror above the gleaming marble ledge where expensive vases are placed. I don't know why the Capitol even bothers to try to make our rooms so pretty and posh. Might as well throw us into bare cells. It's just a preparation for our slaughter, really.

But instead of the opaque jade vase that was on the ledge this morning, there is a huge bouquet of flowers. The beautiful gold vase that holds them compliments the rich pinks and yellows and lilacs. There are full, bursting white, scarlet, pink roses; deep blue flowers that have little purple spots on the petals; sweet-smelling lilies with yellow centers. It gives the so carefully coordinated room so much life, I can't believe that I hadn't noticed it when I came in. It seems like every bloom in Panem is here, bunches of little orange wisps; dark and light leaves, curly vines that flow over the rim of the vase.

There is a note hanging off one side, on fancy parchment paper. I carefully unfold it, the sweet smell of all the flowers wreathing around me. In running, elegant black script, there is one word.

"_Katniss"_

I look over the bouquet again. There, in the very middle-top, are a bunch of aquatic plants. Tall, with arrowhead leaves and blossoms with three white petals and purple pollen. I can imagine the giver of this luxurious gift's smooth voice.

"…_Sagittaria sagittifolia."_

* * *

**A/N:** I'm sorry, I completely messed this one up. I'll try to have the next chapter be much more in character and better. Hopefully my writer block is gone after writing this. Anyways, suggestions, critiques, requests, and simple comments would all be very much appreciated. Love you guys, and see you soon. Please review!_  
_


	4. A Cheap and Sacred Thing

**Finnick:**

"_Tell me you love me, _

_Kiss and you touch me,_

_But it's such a cheap and sa-cred thing…_

_How could you pay me for love…?"_

It's a beautiful, slow song filled with wistful trills and rich with emotion. There are cellists and violinists lovingly pulling bows across their instruments, filling the lavish theatre with highs and lows combining to almost portray the essence of wind blowing across an empty golden meadow at dusk.

And there is the girl, fiery hair curling down her bare back, not at all paling in comparison with the tight scarlet dress that billows out from behind and seems to be floating across the glittering black stage. Large, lashed eyes the color of honey blink into the spotlight, alit and warm and melting, surprisingly different from the emerald the audience knows to expect. Even in the Capitol redheads peek out from underneath feathered hats with mysterious glittering greens.

"_How could you pay me for love…"_

The audience erupts into applause and I slip through the crowd, pulling my jacket closer towards my body, covering my mouth. Through the tinted sunglasses I see the girl disappear behind the heavy velvet curtains.

"I know you…Finnick Oda-?" A woman with star-shaped cuts on her forehead squints at me, and I quickly dodge away and up the stairs. I vaguely remember offering my services to someone like her, perhaps she was the strange woman who had recorded everything happening and sold copies. The president was not happy and Rosalie had pleaded to make sure a scandal did not break out.

Behind the stage is a hallway leading to several doors, each with signs announcing the names of the Capitol's beloved stars. The second one on the right says in glittery, bold letters, "_Miss Lavaea Cartier"._

She should be done in a few minutes. I lean against the wall and wait, shoes sinking into the plush white carpet.

"Oh la la…if it isn't Finnick Odair! I'm trusting you don't mind if I tell Rosalie of your little venture into Lavaea's turf?" The next performer, a renowned tap dancer, passes by, giggling. The stars here have seen me waiting for her many times. They know what's going on.

"Not at all," I purr, pushing down the sunglasses. The tap dancer giggles again and whisks out through the curtain. Applause soon follows and flamboyant music begins to play to the sound of tapping and sliding across the stage.

Moments later there is the sound of something thumping against the wall inside _Miss Lavaea Cartier_'s dressing room. Then muffled laughter and a deep voice. Sloppy sounds of mouths sucking against skin.

Another few minutes and both occupants emerge, breathless and smiling. A fair-haired man who gives me a triumphant look before striding away, and the little red-haired girl.

"Oh Finn! You were waiting out here?" She holds up a finger to her eyes and slides out two opaque honey-colored lenses. "You like redheads, right? There's another show tomorrow night and it'll be so troublesome to dye my hair back."

I silently hand her the spare pair of tinted glasses in my pocket and run my hand through the soft chestnut curls, wiping a bit of wetness off her forehead, not bothering to point out that my hair is nearly red. In training it might arouse suspicion to for others to see her with red hair, but any color hair fits her so well that everyone will assume it was for fashion purposes.

"Let's go, Darling."

We walk out to the gleaming, dark car waiting outside in the awning light of dawn and push through the cameramen and paparazzi, finally shutting the flashes out after closing the doors.

"I haven't been out all night like this in years," I sigh. Rosalie yawns, emphasizing my point. "We can't miss training either, there's a swimming course."

"_We _don't need that." She gathers up her fiery hair and inspects it critically, fingering the wavy curls. "You don't, at least."

I stare at her with heavy lidded eyes and purr along to whatever she is saying. Lavaea Cartier first debuted as a star the year after Rose won her Games. Out of the blue, a beautiful singer and performer that had strange eyes of honey and only appeared on select nights. During the two weeks of the annual Hunger Games, for example. Rare nights during the year, when Capitol citizens always keen on beauty and entertainment crowded into the Grand Theatre at the heart of the empire to hear the soulful voice of Miss Lavaea.

It was President Snow's doing, of course. The faux identity, the sudden rise to the top. Rosalie was originally bound for the same fate, the same submission to men that I must have to the women here. Looking at her now, so pale and delicate with eyes of azure and hair of sunset, no, her hair is the color of a raven's feathers. Either way, she is too breakable, too easily scarred, too innocent to be subjected to long, tiring nights pleasing others. She doesn't even know what I do at night. Parties and socials, she thinks. Escorting ladies to dances, kissing them, as far as I have let on, that is all she will ever see me do.

Snow was unmovable at first, Rose was a gold mine waiting to be picked apart. He scheduled many requests that first year, and Rose trustingly walked into the lavish rooms. And came out already used up, eyes downcast and tears streaming down her young cheeks. She didn't talk to me for days, flinching when I touched her at all. The president saw this and no matter how much he reaped in through that one night, he could not afford for his little doll to be smashed to pieces so quickly. Lavaea Cartier would suffice for the time being, each night bringing in piles of wealth. Best of all, I thought when I suggested the idea, Rosalie Darling would be spared the reputation Lavaea created. Rosalie Darling already had a reputation of her own, taking whoever caught her fancy. Since that first night she's pleased many, still trembling when she comes out, but with a smile ready. She thinks I don't know what she does and tries hard to hide it.

It kills to see her like that, but all flowers eventually wither, and Rose is in the prime of her time. Many will see her beauty, and many will partake in it.

…

"It's ok, Rose. Just stick it into my arm and push down." Rose sits on my bed, hair still wet from the solution that dissolved the red dye and restored her natural black locks. In one hand she has a needle and syringe, the kind that fools one's mind into thinking it has rested during the night.

"Ok…" She jabs it into my arm a little too hard, and pushes the solution down too slowly, then quickly tugs the syringe away as I wince. "I'm so sorry, did I hurt you? Do you need a bandage?" She sees me grimacing and immediately launches into over concern.

"No. Do you want the pill?"

"That take too long, the syringe is fine," she says. I pick up a new one and wipe her upper arm with antiseptic, then watching her face, quickly inject and extract the needle.

"You're going to have a bruise there later on, Darling," I remind her.

She rolls her eyes and starts undressing right there on the bed. I chuckle and leave the room, waiting outside until she is finished.

"Should I leave?" She asks when I return and pick up the tribute uniform from where it lies cleaned and dried on the ledge by the window, which is set is show the ocean.

"No, stay," I smile seductively and take off my jacket, letting it fall to the ground. Then I peel off my shirt in front of her. She smiles knowingly as I slip out of my pants and throw them on the bed next to her.

"God Finn, you should be a stripper."

* * *

**Katniss:**

"This morning all tributes will be required to take part in a swimming course. It has come to our attention that many of the districts have no access to large bodies of water, therefore those tributes from District 4, for example, will have an advantage in many situations." The head trainer speaks loudly and clearly, leaving no room for interruptions or arguments. "Each district pair will have access to one lane in our swimming facility, where training attendants will assist you."

"Can you swim?" I ask Haymitch, and before he even swings his head around lazily I already know that the answer is no.

"Of course I can swim sweetheart, I practice in the bathtub." he snaps, and I regret even thinking that I could possibly get Haymitch to even tread water within the hour.

We are led through two sets of doors into a bright, naturally lit pool area. Atala the head trainer never even hinted about a swimming pool. To have this part of training to be required must mean that it is a crucial skill needed in the arena. What are they going to put us in this year? Islands surrounded on all four sides by water? No land at all?

No, they wouldn't. District 4 would excel, and it doesn't seem that Snow wants that. The floor is tiled with reflective white granite and the pool spans across the entire room, some fifty feet. There are twelve lanes. I have never seen a swimming pool in person, although I know that in the Capitol where lakes and natural reserves are out of the boundaries of the city, there are pools for leisure.

Swimming suits are handed out, one-piece for the females, shorts for the males. We are then instructed to change in the changing rooms, simple divided stalls with curtains. The swimsuit is made of similar material as the training uniform and has each district number printed on the back in silver. It is also tailored to fit each tribute.

When I emerge only a handful of people are ready. Finnick, standing at the edge of his lane, staring into the clear blue water with an enigmatic expression. The morphlings, hiding behind each other to avoid being seen with their sagging yellow skin. Woof, the old guy from 8, puffing out his bony chest as he sits splashing his feet, as if he's the fittest man in the world. Now Cato emerges from his stall, indifferent as our eyes connect. I don't want to be the one to drop my gaze like always, and he isn't looking away, so we are just staring at each other across the room. After a few seconds, I almost give up, this is ridiculous.

His eyes narrow, and then he calls, "I'm not backing down, Fire Girl." I immediately am resolved to keep it up after _that _statement. I narrow my eyes as well, just staring into his blue ones with as much intensity as possible.

"What are you _doing_?" Haymitch cuts into the muted world I've entered, coughing as he caps his bottle of alcohol. I grit my teeth and wave him away, but he just walks right in between, breaking off the eye contact.

Cato smirks at me and goes to take his place behind Enobaria at the end of his lane; almost everyone has changed. Haymitch and I line up at the last lane, near the sun-filled windows to await instruction from the instructors, who are to the side discussing something.

"You may familiarize yourself with your lane," one of them tells us, and we slip into the cold water. The bottom is nearly ten feet down, I realize when my feet dangle, searching for solid ground. Many tributes are clutching the edge of the pool, likely never been in water so deep.

"Whoooo!" I look over in time to see Rosalie take a running start and dive into the pool, barely making a splash. I don't think such a flawless entrance deserves such a wild holler. She is not wearing the uniform swimming suit that was handed out, but rather a…black polka dotted white bikini?

"What is wrong with her?" I mutter, watching her swimming back to where Finnick is watching everyone. He was asked to help instruct, apparently. I can feel myself disliking Rosalie and her beauty, her privileges, her overall everything that made people like her so easily.

_That's how they make people like them, _Haymitch had said.

"If you would move maybe I could actually get in, sweetheart." Haymitch glares down at me, blonde mustache twitching.

"Oh." I start swimming. I already know how to, and halfheartedly paddle along while an attendant explains the basics to Haymitch. He can barely float without flailing around and coughing up water, how do they expect to teach everyone to be able to swim no doubt quickly in such a short amount of time?

"You swim well, Katniss."

"You should go help Haymitch," I say, not sure how to speak to him since he was most likely the one who delivered the bouquet. Finnick's lips curl up into a smile and he moves on with a wink. Flirt.

"Oh, Katniss! Do you want to come sunbathe with me? I brought a bikini for you just in case." Rosalie passes by minutes later, soaking wet and holding a flimsy red thing in her hands. I notice that there is a nasty-looking purple bruise spreading across her bicep.

"Leave me alone, you two." I mumble. Louder, I say, "No, you go ahead. I'm fine."

"Maybe Cashmere wants to," she replies, running towards the opposite end of the pool. An attendant tells her to stop running and she retorts something. I roll my eyes at her back and continue treading the water.

A training attendant claps loudly for attention, the sound echoing through the airy room. A window has been opened wide, letting in gust of cold but fresh air and the bustle of Capitol citizens laughing and chatting outside. The window is closed.

"Tributes who are sure of their ability in the water may return to the training center, all other tributes must stay until an attendant says otherwise," Atala says, and a third of the tributes start getting out of the water. Districts 1 and 2, 4 and me.

"Uh, good luck." I say to Haymitch as I leave. Like I predicted, he's struggling to keep his head above water. Haymitch gives me a snort in reply. Other than the Careers and the odd little District 12, which isn't too new, everyone else is still getting the hang of keeping afloat and moving.

Maybe I'll even get to interact with these people without Haymitch breathing down my back.

* * *

**Cato.**

"Katniss, come here! Cato has something to say to you!" Rosalie practically bounds up to me and starts calling for Katniss the moment we step back into the training center. Cashmere and Glimmer are with me and they exchange a long, wary look with Rosalie before they silently leave us. "Katniss!"

Katniss stops walking towards the archery station and turns, with eyebrows arched skeptically.

"Dammit Rosalie..." I mutter. What is she playing at? She must have realized that Katniss and I are over by now. I glare at her dangerously, and she widens her eyes and glares back.

"I felt so guilty," she whispers. "You and Katniss are perfect together." She leaves as well, giving me a smile when she reaches the weapon range.

Katniss is still standing there expectantly, gingerly watching our every move. "Yes Cato?" she asks.

"Uh…" I start, not sure what to say. She has to understand that I don't despise her, but I just can't think of her as anything other than a competitor that was once a friend at this point. I say the first thing that comes to mind. "…where did you learn how to swim?"

"Well, I had some experience in that river." Katniss carefully chooses her words, obviously trying to hide something. I don't pry.

"I'm sure that you did, directly before you passed out," I say sarcastically, not even bothering to smirk, she's looking extremely uncomfortable and I can only feel the same way.

"Thanks for…you know, saving me that time."

"Sure," I reply. She fidgets, looking down at her hands. I haven't looked at her straight on in such a long time, she's filled out and she seems more mature somehow, although she is still as anti-social as before.

I turn my head for a second to glance at the Gamemakers, who are watching us intently. Everyone is, even the training instructors. I cannot tell what the new head Gamemaker is thinking, he is stroking his mustache as he watches us. As I turn back, someone slams into my side and I have to turn my body to catch them as we fall.

Then we are falling and then the air rushes out of my chest as I hit the marble floor, the weight on me pinning me down.

"Clumsy." I accuse, sighing. Whoever it is has their arms and legs sprawled out over my body, head under my chin, so I can't lift my neck to see who it is.

"Get off," I say flatly, already starting to push the girl off. It's Katniss, I can tell by the way she is wiggling away and muttering apologies.

"No," Rosalie's voice calmly cuts through our frantic breaths. "No." She bends over my face, hair falling down and creating a silky black curtain on one side. She smiles, eyes shining and I immediately guess that it was her that pushed Katniss into me. Quite hard, it seems.

"Look at me," she kneels down, so her face is even closer. I almost roll my eyes, I don't have much choice _but _to stare at her. Rosalie Darling, most beautiful woman alive. Smooth pale skin and a small, straight nose. Long lashes over deep blue. "You fell in love with that girl. I know this…you will _always _always love her deep down, no matter how long has passed or what happens."

"…God, you two, get a room," she says louder as she stands back up, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear clearly.

Katniss is still laying on top of me, mumbling swears.

"Ok Cash." Katniss immediately scrambles up at Rosalie's cue and I see that Cashmere was holding her down.

"What the hell?" she spits at them. "You two are stupid." Then in a true Katniss moment, she glares at everyone who is looking on. She even glowers at the Gamemakers. Then she stomps away to the archery station.

"That worked out well." I say coldly to Rosalie, getting up. Her eyes start getting big and moist and she keeps on blinking and flicking them from me to Katniss. She's going to start crying soon, I can tell.

"It would have, if you'd really cared."

* * *

**Rosalie:**

How can they both be so cruel? They loved each other once. No, they still do. I know by the way that Cato is still staring at Katniss' back and how she hides her face as she draws the bow.

I blink and bite my lip, determined not to cry. Cato watches me coldly, seemingly untouched by my comment. To think I had wanted something more than friendship with him. He's so unreachable and stubborn.

"I would think that you've lost enough, but you're still letting her go like this?" I say, wincing at the way the words quickly take on a full Capitol tone. That's what always happens when I'm angry. Finnick makes fun of me all the time for it.

"What?"

He obviously understands what I mean, pale blue eyes widening and shoulders tensing. But of course he tries to hide it with his innocent little _what? _It's slightly pathetic. I wrinkle my nose and go to the archery station to watch Katniss with her bows before I say anything worse. Because I've got plenty to say.

I know that brooding is childish and this isn't my battle to fight, but I can't help but feel immensely upset about Katniss and Cato.

Katniss is really quite pretty and talented, and I have seen how she cares for others in last year's Games. I had indeed preferred Clove to be the one coming out with Cato, though. Clove was just so much more interesting and fun. I could imagine her being a close friend. Katniss on the other hand I find hard to talk to and hard to help. It was so devastating when Clove fell at the Cornucopia. But there is so much to envy. I…wish…

I stop thinking such selfish thoughts and pick up an arrow from the rack, marveling at its light weight and deathly sharp tip. One of the Careers my year could use a bow fairly well. She was more or less a friend and I felt so horrid when I killed her with her own arrow.

Everything suddenly strays back to Katniss and Cato again, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut as a wave of guilt washes over me. _It's all my fault, it's all my fault, it's all my fault. _

I know the way he looks at me; different from the stare he gives Katniss and the cold look he gives everyone else. He knows I want him, and he's already starting to melt, letting himself laugh and smile. It's ridiculously unfair. Poor Katniss, she's the one he wants. Not me.

"Mind your own f- business, girl."

I swivel around and Enobaria bumps into me hard before walking away. I stand there, the impact sending the arrow into my hand. I watch as the blood drips to the floor, one drop, two drops, three. Scarlet. It's been this way ever since I started mentoring. Enobaria hates me so much and I don't blame her at all. All the Career victors despise me, really. They think what I did was barbarian and dastardly, and I know that Cash and Gloss are not sure if I will turn on them in the alliance. Of course I won't, but Enobaria is even more skeptical and shows it. I think the only factor holding Finn and I a place in the alliance is tradition and their determination not to let the best fighters out of their sight.

"Miss, are you bleeding?" One of the two archery attendants approaches me. "Please have that treated right away, miss."

"This? I'm al…right. Just…a little scratch." I feel disjointed from the world. I look down at my palm again, at the scarlet gash and the way the warmth trickles down my wrist before rolling off. There is no pain, just a fuzzy feeling as the world wavers.

"Miss!"

…

"She was amazing, you say."

"You've seen her in the arena, Rose. She hit every one of them," Finnick replies absent-mindedly. He's thinking. He's talking about the unbelievable display Katniss put off while she was at the archery station, which I happened to miss while I was passed out on the floor.

"Well, I guess she must have been quite astounding for you to leave me laying there, _Finnick,_" I say drily. Then I immediately feel selfish again. Of course I would be overlooked in the face of Katniss' incredible talent. She can do so much. Survive and hunt her own food, depend on no one. I, on the other hand, depend on everyone.

"I'm sorry." He pauses for a moment and I trace a pattern on the surface of the white leather couch cushion with my bandaged hand. The others are still training, but Finnick brought me back to our suite to rest.

"I told Katniss I would do an hour of trident for an hour of archery," he says. "Will you be alright?"

"Yes…go have fun. Give her the love she deserves."

"What was that?" He laughs and kisses me quickly on the lips before leaving, and I stay motionless until he is done, feeling his nose brush against mine. Then I smile, not for me, but for Katniss. She's in for the time of her life.

* * *

**Katniss:**

"Is that too heavy?" Finnick hands me the smallest, possibly most lightweight trident there is. It's after lunch, which was full of hushed whispering and rumors about the dark months and how Rosalie was tortured, which somehow related to her fainting. I found the entire controversy quite stupid, and found it strange that even gone, Rosalie is always the center of attention. I'd just finished giving Finnick his not-so private hour of archery. Cashmere lingered by the station the entire time, occasionally commenting on Finnick's stellar performance. I notice that now that the other District 4 tribute is gone, some of the younger females shamelessly came to watch us train. Finnick was, quite honestly, a natural. After minutes of adjusting the bow and pulling the arrow back tauter than I usually do, he shot straight through a wooden bulls-eye. Being Finnick Odair has its advantages.

"No." I put it back on the rack as Finnick raises his eyebrows. "I'm not as weak as I look." There is a bronze one, not as large as the gold in his hand, and I take that.

He still looks slightly surprised but graciously apologizes. "I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry, of course you are."

"I'm sure you were thinking fine," I say. "You're just used to women being delicate and dainty." I feel like I need to be completely frank with him.

"True." He chuckles and launches the trident across the span of floor and it impales a dummy, the prongs making a squishing sound as he retrieves the weapon. I find that he moves almost as smoothly as his partner does, confident and alluring.

I try to do the same and find it strange to throw such a large object. It is basically a long staff with points at one end, and it slips out of my hand and clatters to the floor. I frown and pick it up. Finnick is back and leans against one of the poles with his trident, an amused look on his face, one hand is fiddling with the woven bracelet on his tanned arm. I wonder if it's some token of favor from some District 4 girl.

_Be frank_, right. "Who made that bracelet?" I ask. I can see Haymitch giving me a huge grin and a thumbs up out of the corner of my eye.

He looks down as if he hadn't realized he was touching it. "Oh, this? Rose and Annie. It was years ago." I look at it, obviously it is very important to him. But it's just simple white weave, if he wanted he could replace it with pure gold and rubies any day.

"Wasn't it your district token?" I say. Now that I think about it, I do remember something on his wrist his year.

"Yes. I still remember, Annie was too scared to give it to me so Rose did. They were best friends." He fingers it fondly again, gold hair falling into his eyes.

"_Were?_"

"It's not easy seeing someone you've known forever kill so many people, Katniss." He puts his trident back on the rack and adjusts my hands with his warm ones, unlike Cato he has no scars on his skin.

"Thank you for the flowers," I suddenly remember the bouquet in my room and blurt this out.

Finnick looks at me with a strange kindness in his smoldering eyes, and runs his hands up my arm up to my shoulders. Then he clutches them slightly, leaning in.

"Katniss."

It's a husky whisper that makes me duck and try to wiggle away from the hot breath on my neck. Flirting until the end, I can hardly imagine keeping something up for so long.

"You look nice," he murmurs, letting me go. I twist away and stare at him suspiciously. Many of the onwatchers are sending me strange glares.

He does nothing under my scowl, which is strange since I know it makes people uncomfortable. There is only a radiant smile that lights up his pale eyes. He taps me one more time on the shoulder and walks away.

* * *

Please **review** with thoughts and comments! I know...many of you are like me, you enjoy but never review. But please, I want to get to know you and send you nice PMs with little blurbs of story, I want to be friends. Let me know what you think and I'll let you know what I think.


	5. And Then I Twirl

_Wow. So much hate. Alright then. Rosalie is hated, I understand. From the beginning she was never a perfect character. She has so many problems, and I had them planned out to be revealed, so hopefully this will ease your animosity towards her a bit. Well, enjoy the rest of it, I guess. _**  
**

**Cato.**

"So Fire Girl outranked you again."

I watch the twelve fade from the television screen and let out a breath. I can't help but smile ironically. Katniss…

"Yes Enobaria, she did." I say. I remember when she hunted for all of us last year. I never did get the opportunity to compliment her on it. Or thank her for fixing me up all those times.

Brutus seems incredulous. "You're not angry?"

I stare at him, feeling the smile curl into a smug grin. "Would you rather me be?"

Brutus tips his head back and takes a shot of whiskey. I pick up the bottle of 'celebration' wine and gulp down several mouthfuls, somehow the burning sensation in my throat is refreshing.

Cashmere and Gloss both got nines, Enobaria and I snagged a ten. Finnick, an eleven. Rosalie, nine. Katniss…an unreachable, incomparable twelve. I don't remember much else, after all, those scores and those people are the only ones who really matter in this competition, aren't they?

"Well you threw a complete fit when she scored that eleven," Enobaria points out. She is not as angry as I had anticipated either. Rather, perhaps for the first time since that day years ago when my sword held her at my mercy during a match. _Impressed. _

"I don't remember you seeing that."

"I'm not deaf," she growls. I raise an eyebrow and silently get up and walk towards the door, turning the knob. Neither Brutus or Enobaria ask where I'm going, automatically they assume it is training, although tonight I have other matters to tend to.

"If you see District 4, tell them they're not in the alliance anymore."

I pause with the door halfway ajar. The lights of distant Capitol buildings twinkle in the window. I frown at Enobaria, who seems completely serious.

"Very well," I reply flatly, dramatically giving both of them a mock bow. Before I go, Brutus throws me the crystal bottle, still nearly full.

"You haven't had wine in a long time," he says, shrugging. I raise my eyebrows and take a long drink. When I hand it back to him fire is running through my veins and everything is a more vivid color. I know that the confusion and headache will come on later, but wine is…wine.

…

They are in the training center, diligently jumping from block to block on the obstacle course. Physically they are exactly what Enobaria wants in the alliance. In other aspects, perhaps not. I walked in on Enobaria watching Rosalie's tape last night, and then Finnick's. Both were the ones to kill the other Careers.

"Hello," Finnick says warily. I regard him coldly, and return the greeting. I almost laugh at how he automatically orders Rosalie to go practice her knots when she jumps down from the course and joins him on the floor. She shrugs and goes, although she watches us from the little dark corner. No one else is here in the darkened room, just us three. Tommorrow are interviews, after all. The other districts are probably prepping.

"There has been a change of plans; District 4 is no longer part of the alliance." I am ever aware of how hostile I sound. And Finnick Odair seems to have picked up on it as well, because he narrows his eyes and his lips start to drop into a frown.

"And might I ask why? It's a rather sudden _change in your precious plans._"

I ignore the sarcasm and smirk, glancing towards the clock hanging above the Gamemaker's balcony. Quarter to twelve. Quarter to twelve and the flash of lights still stream through the wall of windows, creating shadows and lights across the ceiling. I watch another round of lights pass, feeling the tension grow and enjoying the feeling of leaving the famous District 4 waiting for my every word.

"Well?" He urges impatiently.

"What does it matter? You don't need our district, and we don't need yours." I smile wickedly, watching his expression morph from one of politely hidden confusion to one of disapproval.

For the second time tonight, I walk out.

**Katniss.**

I hear the wind blow through the trees and watch as the leaves drift down slowly in the pre-dawn light. The sound of mockingjays eerily cuts through the fresh forest air and as another breeze stirs the branches, I can only stare into the window. Close enough to feel the cold air on my cheek and far enough to reach out and only feel the smooth screen. I hate it. But I can't switch the illusion off.

I hate this place and I hate watching the world I once knew pass in front of my eyes. I hate being reminded of Prim back home and Gale hunting alone on Sundays. I hate thinking of all of them but I can't stop picturing their faces.

I hate Rosalie for breaking my life in two. Her own impulsiveness brought all of Panem into hell. My family ripped to shreds for the third time in this lifetime. Prim sobbing and all the people back home under the hand of those Peacekeepers who had rained acid down on the people and splattered blood across the innocent. Districts into turmoil. People into turmoil. Relationships into turmoil. Stupid stupid stupid. She knows nothing but her perfect men and perfect gifts and perfect, flawless affections. She knows nothing of working to make someone _care _about you.

So I did something unforgivable during the training session yesterday. Unforgivable, and unforgettable. Just the way the Capitol likes things.

Rope from the knot station and a cloth dummy from the knives station, Black paint from the camouflage station. A fiery curling beard, then in thick black letters, I scrawled "Seneca Crane" on the stomach of the dummy with it's neck in a noose. Then, I ripped one of the arms off, painted the words "Rosalie Darling" on the rough white canvas, and pinned the detached limb to Seneca Crane's head.

If that wasn't enough, I threw the entire contraption at the force field, where it fizzed and combusted, before smiling sweetly, thanking them, and storming out of the room. I still hear the heavy slam of the door resounding in my ears.

I was so sure I would get a one. Even a zero. But they gave me a twelve. So not only am I the Girl on Fire, or one of the 'star-crossed lovers', but the first tribute to achieve a perfect, despicable score. Haymitch says that if I'm not at the top of the Career pack's list of competitors, he'd give up alcohol. As if. He's gurgling bottles of it down with his buddies right now, on floor eleven. And Effie is sleeping with her face mask in place and probably two slices of cucumber over her eyes.

_Damn the world._

In a fit of anger I kick at the nightstand and stupidly stub my toe.

"That was to be expected, you know."

I turn, eyes wide, and with my hand still clutching my foot, squint to see into the darkness near the door although I already know who it is.

My eyes start to adjust to the light and I push away the small tug at my chest and adopt an iron tone, unreadable and emotionless. "What the hell are you doing here. And how did you get in."

"Don't be too excited to see me, Katniss." He steps away from the wall and approaches my bed. There is a slight stagger to his step. The silvery grey dawn from the screen shining upon his features. "I need to talk to you. And the door was unlocked."

I study him, this is surely a joke. No way would Cato of all people, who had clearly rejected me too many times to count, who I have so many doubts about; no way in hell would he visit me at the stroke of midnight. The gold faced clock on the wall chimes twelve times in the silence.

"Are you serious?" I spit, but he is. I can actually tell that he is because there is a rare kind of pleading in his eyes. But there is also an elusive smile, which scares me. I pose a new question before he has a chance to answer, still defensive. "Why are you doing this?"

He just stares down at me with liquid eyes that are turned silver in the dim room. There is a strange distance, like he is thinking of something else. Yet I kind of shrink back into the fluffed covers, collapsing under that pleading gaze.

"Talk." I finally squeak.

He smiles. "It seems like everything we do turns into an uncomfortable moment."

I can only agree. "Talk," I squeak again, louder.

"Everything in the arena was just for show," he sighs. I cock an eyebrow. That much is starting to be obvious at this point, although I had wish it wasn't true. It was a rather…important part of my _lovely_ experience in the arena.

"Do you want me to applaud you for your amazing performance?" I say sarcastically. "Or should I compliment your acting?"

"Katniss, listen. I messed up, alright?"

I glare at him in disbelief. "Sure did."

Cato shifts his weight, glancing around the room, eyes fixed on the forest for a moment before wandering back to me. "I wasn't too..I mean, I wasn't disappointed when you came out with me."

"Oh, so should I be happy that you didn't hate me? God…" I mutter.

"No, that's not what I meant. I'm sorry, Katniss. I'm sorry about everything. I would ask you join the alliance but I can't. I would talk to you every day I see you but I can't. I…" His voice raises and then falls down to a murmur. Then he closes his eyes and turns his face up to the ceiling.

"Get out." I say levelly. "I can't trust you anymore. You tell me you were acting for two weeks straight and now you suddenly make a little speech?"

He opens his eyes and cocks an eyebrow. Then he smirks, which is more like him. A usual enigmatic spark is factored into the pleading eyes. But thank god,I was getting slightly scared at the possibility of him being brainwashed to say all these things. But at the same time, it shows that he might actually have meant everything. Which is equally as unnerving.

"Believe what you want." The words are slightly slurred.

Then he leans forward quickly and in the instant before I bury my head into my pillow to avoid it, his lips brush against mine.

When I lift my face, the damn boy is gone. And I think, he may have been drunk, because I can taste whiskey on my mouth.

**Rosalie.**

"Darling, Darling, Darling."

I turn at the unfamiliar voice, eyes narrowed. It's an angelically handsome man with golden hair and an expensive black suit. I decide that I don't like him. Too overconfident, I see, from the way he bathes in the attention of a cluster of overdressed women. It's a lunch, for God's sake, not a ball. If it were I wouldn't be wearing a simple pink chiffon dress.

"Arrogant. You barely know me yet you call me by the most intimate nickname." I retort, taking Taye's arm once again. He blinks at me with long black lashes and summons an Avox who is carrying a platter of wine.

"You'll be there for the interviews?" I ask him. The Avox, who has been assigned the color green as her theme, walks forward, head bowed and arms outstretched with the wine platter.

"Yes, of course." As he speaks the Avox stumbles on a coincidentally outstretched leg and falls forward. I watch the deep red liquid splash through the air. Everything in the goblets comes spilling down onto my face.

I can feel my face turning scarlet underneath the alcohol dripping down my neck and bleeding into the dress. I stalk through the crowd of onlookers and push open the door to the powder room. Everything is spinning out of control. My life, Panem, the Hunger Games.

I lock myself into the polished stall, a trail of wine following. Then I stick a finger down my throat. Like so many times before, I know it's wrong and disgusting, but it feels so nice to have control. For once.

…

"Miss, please don't cry."

"Be quiet!" I snap. Stupid chauffeur. "I won't ruin your precious leather seats."

"Yes miss." There is a slight tone of venom in his voice too, but I'm past feeling bad and apologizing.

I attended that luncheon to persuade them. Persuade them all to sponsor us. And dammit, that wine ruined it all. How could I possibly face all those people in clothes like that? Then Goldie decided to barge into the power room to 'check on me' and I had to run out the hall. It was mortifying.

"Where to, miss?"

"Nowhere." I say. At least I still have another chance tonight. I promised to meet Taye underneath the clock tower, and then Valerius at the crystal bridge. Or was it the other way around? "Agh, I'm so confused."

"Sorry?" The driver maintains a polite tone and continues cruising down the busy streets. The sides are lined with shops and various displays of fashion. Fashion is where it's at these days, here. All days, really.

"The training center, please." I wipe my eyes and sit up. I haven't gotten like this since the reaping. It's a horrible habit to throw almost a tantrum every time things don't go the way I want, but it's so hard not to.

"I'm sorry, I've just been having a simply horrendous day." Maintain the calm. I must.

I scoot out of the car in my ruined dress and try not to slink through the spotless white lobby like I've been humiliated, but I end up ducking my head and rushing up the elevator. I run into someone on the fourth floor. It's Katniss.

"Why are you on this floor?" I say sharply. She is staring at me with a type of smugness that only those quiet, rather withdrawn people can pull. "Stop staring," I add.

"I got off at the wrong time," she explains. "I'm going now."

_Likely story. Liar. _

"What?" Katniss looks offended and angry. Not like she's looking anything less than wonderful in her crisp black pants and orange shirt.

"Go. And don't you even dare try to get Finnick too. Because he's not interested, no matter how much he seems like he is."

She rolls her eyes sarcastically, impatient. "Oh, because I was _obviously_ paying Finnick a visit."

"He's not interested." I repeat. _God, she's going to steal everyone away from me. _And then, selfishly, I think, _she's already got Cato, lucky thing. _

"I'm going. You should too. We have interviews today, if you haven't noticed."

"'_I'm going' _would have been a satisfactory answer, _Katniss._" If she wants sass, she's getting it.

"What happened to all your charm and elegance?" She spits back.

Usually I would laugh and move on, but today is not usual. Too many things have happened. And I feel as if I am about to faint, there is an immense emptiness in my stomach and the smell of wine is wafting up.

"Don't question me. You're on my floor after all, dear."

I give her a glare and she glares back. Then I straighten my neck, blink once, and walk towards the door to the suite.

I can hear Remmius and Ellsi are in the dining room, having lunch and discussing various designs for the evening's outfits. They want something big, flashy. _Cheap. Overused._ I think. I don't greet them and walk straight to my room, where I take a shower and change into a simple pair of tight-fitting jeans, a blouse, and flats.

The dining room is so far from the tribute bedrooms that I cannot hear anything but silence from this corner of the suite. Is Finnick not home? Maybe he's at some party too.

I turn the doorknob to his room and frown when I find that it is locked.

_He never locks the door. _

Instead of knocking or jiggling the doorknob like I should, I order an Avox to bring me a thin rod to open the door. I push the metal through the hole in the knob and hear a satisfying click. Then I push open the door and step into the dark bedroom. The curtains are drawn and the window is still set to a calm breaking ocean.

Then I freeze.

Because there on the canopy bed, is Finnick and another woman. Naked and close to each other, laying on the rumpled white sheets.

"Rosalie?" Finnick lifts his head but avoids eye contact. I know that he is surprised. But I barely hear him, staring at the curvy woman as she pulls him back down on the bed and plants a sloppy kiss on his lips. I am still motionless, unable to do anything but stare at them.

I slam the door and run.

**Katniss.**

"Lights, camera, action." Wiress repeats this over and over again, fiddling with her metallic dress. I guess she's as nervous as I am, maybe more. "Lights, camera, action." Definitely more nervous.

This year they are having the tributes wait behind the stage for their turn. Apparently they need the twenty-four seats for the overflow of Capitol citizens not wanting to miss the event in person. There is a dim stagelight above us, then a screen showing what is happening onstage. Before us is the dark velvet curtain. Cato stands near it, eyes flicking across the rest of us, watching. He reminds me of a wolf. Alert, cautious, and deadly. And I can't get last night out of my mind. Since when did Cato start drinking? I feel like it was a one time incident. It seems like the taste is whiskey is in everything things he said were strange enough in itself.

Johanna approaches me, hair spiked with gel. She slides her finger down a sleeve. "What the hell are you wearing?"

"A dress." I reply.

She shrugs, not caring that I didn't answer her question, and lingers for a few moments before leaving to join her district partner. Everyone is here, I think. Haymitch is joking around with his friends, and the District 1 tributes and Enobaria are strategizing in a corner. The siblings look stellar in their matching white outfits.

It's strange that Finnick isn't with them, instead he stands a ways off, fiddling with his tie and looking worried, which is so unlike him. Is he nervous about the interview? No, that's impossible. He's at his best on camera. Then it hits me, Rosalie isn't here. Not flirting with some male tribute, not sweet-talking people into doing what she wants. And I can already hear the crowd's excitement, thousands of voices waiting for the show's start in ten minutes.

I walk over to him, wondering what went wrong. Not that I care about his precious little girl. She's an arrogant, spoiled brat. It's just interesting.

Just as I am crossing the stage, the door creaks open loudly on its hinges. And there she is, everything she is doing only adding to the fact that something is wrong. While Finnick is clothed in a rich, smooth gold suit, she is dressed in a black ruffled mini. Jewels are at her ears, wrist, throat. And with his arm snugly around her shoulders is a haughty golden-haired man, handsome in every way. He grins smugly when we notice them and takes the liberty to smooth down Rosalie's hair.

Finnick gives his tie one final twist before dropping his hands and just staring at them both, pain in his expression. He doesn't move when I stop next to him but his eyes slide towards me.

"What happened, Finnick?" I ask neutrally, although it is very clear at this point. Rosalie immediately snaps her head over to stare intensely at us, every second of eye contact a reminder of her words this afternoon.

Finnick obviously thinks that this heated glare is directed at him and talks to me quietly.

"It's complicated. I'm sorry Katniss, I can't speak to you right now."

"Alright," I say. Then I turn around to meet another intense gaze. Cato is staring at me with narrowed eyes, but looks away the moment I notice. Seconds later an assistant hands him some type of pill, and he swallows it, while one hand presses against his temples. Ha. Serves him right for getting drunk. We all know that the next day is torture.

"Wait," Finnick mutters. Then, "Don't turn around." I stay on the spot and pretend that I'm adjusting a fold of my dress, waiting for him to speak.

"The rebellion's worse. I was told today that District 8 is essentially a war zone. Rosalie can't handle it anymore. She never could."

"So?" I ask.

"Please. Take her place. If not for her, for me. Please, Katniss."

I can't help but smile. It's as if Cinna knew this was coming. I'm ready. And already I am reinventing my performance onstage tonight.

"Of course."

…

And so the interviews begin. We line up in order, from female to male, District 1 to 12. Once again I notice that while the first two districts snicker and encourage each other, District 4 seems not to be part of the group. The golden-haired man disappeared.

I am second to last so should expect half an hour before my turn. Even though I know exactly what to say and do, I'm so nervous that I jump when the theme music starts and the signature "_…Caesar Flickermannnn!" _is announced. Cashmere slips through the side of the curtain and starts her interview.

Enobaria plays on her trainees, listing all the victors she personally trained. Cato's name is last on the lengthy list, and he is greeted with applause when he walks onto stage in his crisp coffee colored suit and takes a seat on the white sofa. I can't help but remembering how much more muscular he was last year. He's leaner now. I personally find it more appealing.

_Shut up, Katniss. _I banish the thought from my mind and turn to the huge television installed before us.

"Hello Cato. How is Katniss?" Caesar smiles widely and cheers come from the crowd. I cringe.

"Perfect as always."

Clove was right, he is such a liar. He has a kind of small smile on his face that wouldn't ever happen if he was really talking about me, I'm sure.

"I can imagine." Caesar laughs that famous laugh, deep and contagious. Then he suddenly gets serious, putting a hand on Cato's knee. "So, tell me. What do you think of this year's Games?"

"I feel as if it's rather strange for this to be the priority of the season instead of the riots happening across Panem."

A collective gasp from the audience. Then silence. Pure silence. Then Caesar forces an incredibly fake laugh, almost squirming in his seat.

"How amusing, Cato! You had me worried there!" He laughs even louder, and the audience twitters with amusement as well. Many people calm down at this and the appalled expressions are replaced by relief. They believe that it was a joke, like Caesar made it be.

"What I meant was, what will happen with Katniss and you_ now_?"

"Well…" Cato rests against an arm, chin on his hand. "I'll tell her I love her and then ask her to marry me."

Everyone backstage suddenly turns to stare at me, even the maintenance crew. And I feel my face going completely red as the deafening sound of applause sounds beyond the curtain. Haymitch looks positively astounded, and Rosalie turns away more from Finnick, crossing her arms.

There are no cheers this time, just a sad, long moan from the crowd. This 'marriage proposal' will never happen, and they know it.

"Really!" Caesar says regretfully.

"No." Cato smirks. The moan grows louder.

"No? But…"

"No. What will happen is we'll go back into the arena and…there is only one victor this time, isn't there?"

The buzzer beeps before anyone can say anything else and Cato walks off the stage, expression unreadable.

I want to strangle him. The liar. I hope his headache is bothering him.

Beetee shows the audience a new invention of his and then crushes the tiny metal thing onstage, deeming it unusable with his absence. Rosalie clicks across the stage in her golden heels and takes a seat. Immediately before Caesar even asks her anything, she starts talking. The host lets her speak, he has been in so many interviews with the District 4 pair over the years that nothing is a surprise. She immediately launches into a sort of rant on what will be missed most for each and every one of the tributes.

"Enobaria and her scary teeth. Cato and his abs." The crowd laughs at this. "Beetee and his smartness. Wiress and her _moments_." More laughter. She's good at this, and obviously having a good time embarrassing all of us too. It's funny and sad at the same time.

"Johanna hates trees. Well, outfits related in any ways to trees."

"Finnick always messes up his hair before an interview. We like him rugged, don't we?" Agreement from all the women. Several start to cry loudly.

"And Katniss…" For a moment a spark of malice enters her eyes and I feel like she is about to badmouth me onstage. It's still there though when she pleasantly says, "She can feed a nation with that bow of hers."

The buzzer goes off and I can only scowl at the ground. Everyone is talking, getting emotional, remembering their favorite tribute and dreading the moment they will perish in the arena.

Finnick Odair recites a love song. Of course he would. It's about a boy on a mountain high above and his lover on the sands below. All the women in the room fancy themselves that lover, fanning their faces and whispering to each other under his serious gaze. We all know who it's really for though. In the end the boy jumps off the cliffs into the ocean. The girl runs to him but he has drowned. She holds the broken body in her arms and weeps. It's a bittersweet ending and it scares me to think what he might mean with it.

"I love this girl, Caesar," he says a moment before the buzzer beeps. With no other explanation he walks off the stage like a ghost, looking empty. I notice that from both Caesar and the audience, there is nothing but pure silence at this point. Silence and tears.

Johanna goes right out and talks about the violence in District 7, and how outrageous everything is, especially the Capitol for taking offense so easily.

"Let's calm down, Johanna." Caesar says uneasily. But she keeps barreling ahead.

"So what if Rosalie wanted to see District 13? Not like there's anything good there. A bunch of rubble, it is."

The buzzer goes off a little too early, coincidentally, and she doesn't get to keep talking. I actually wanted to hear what she was going to say.

Finally Haymitch is up there on the stage and I am alone behind the curtain, bouncing on the balls of my feet and feeling the butterflies ravage my stomach.

Caesar asks him what it feels like to be tribute in two Quarter Quells.

"It feels like hell." Haymitch replies gruffly.

"I'm sure it does," the host shakes his head with probably false sympathy. Then the buzzer, and I am being herded forward through the side of the stage and onto the polished platform, still gathering my thoughts.

"_KATNISS EVERDEEN, THE GIRL ON FIREEEE!" _

Everything is suddenly muddled and muffled, and I have to think for a moment. Is that me? Yes, I think so.

I walk forward and take a seat, the blood pounding in my ears. Caesar pats me on the back and suddenly everything is crystal clear again and I can hear. The audience is wailing, sniffling, crying by now. Several are calling for change and there are a few ladies being towed away, in a dead faint.

When they see me in the black mourning dress, little laced sleeves and a large red rose pinned to the collar, the wailing rises and even Caesar, with all his years of profession, has trouble quieting the crowd. It is the intended effect, but my three minutes are ticking away.

"Katniss, it is obviously a very emotional night. What do you have to say regarding the Hunger Games?"

Even with the air conditioning, I can feel the heat of the feelings radiating from everyone in the room.

"I'm sorry that so many of us will be lost so soon." I have a moment of genius in which I decide to add something else. Haymitch wouldn't approve. But…

"I was supposed to be wearing my wedding dress." There is a huge "oooohh" from the crowd.

"Who's the lucky man, Katniss?" Caesar asks. I silently thank him.

"Cato Greene." I say. The ladies in the audience launch into another round of hysterics and the men shake their heads sympathetically. I wish so badly to see what Cato's expression is right now.

I go on, a few more lies can't hurt. "It was going to be taking place this summer. But I thought tonight…" I fake a choke-sob and then pretend to bury my face in my hands.

"Why celebrate?" Caesar finishes for me. "So instead you wore your mourning dress to mourn for all the lost lives and your lost life."

I lift my head, wiping nonexistent tears from my eyes. If Caesar sees that they aren't there, he won't reveal it. It's his job to help me.

"Our lost life…Cato and I." I sniffle. Then, "Can I twirl? Just once?"

"Of course."

I stand and close my eyes. Then I twirl.

My eyes are closed and when I hear screams from the crowd, I think it's because I look fantastical. But then I open them and realize that something is misting up around me. Smoke. Not fake smoke, not the flickery fire I wore last year, but real fire. Burning and devouring my black silk dress. Pearls and jewels clatter to the floor, rolling off the stage as the flames lick up at my face, heated and strange. I'm afraid to stop and know that Cinna must be behind this, so I just keep twirling.

And finally I stop. Am I naked? No, I'm not naked. I look down and I'm in a dress of the exact same design, but it is grey and patched of tiny, beautiful feathers. Stunned, I lift the heavy flowing sleeves and see that it is completely pearl grey other that the white patches on the sleeves. Not sleeves, wings.

For I am not Katniss. I am not the girl on fire. I am a mockingjay.


	6. Into the Dark

_I'm busy, so incredibly busy. What is a story without an author? What is a writer without inspiration? Nothing. Nothing. I am nothing. Change of plans, change of plot. Everything is changed and 40 pages lay dead in a folder tonight. Reviews inspire me. Inspire me. _

_..._

**Katniss**_  
_

"Katniss. How are you?"

I am quivering on my feet with ten thousand mockingjays beating in my stomach. "Nervous."

Cinna tuts softly in a comforting sort of way and leads me across the sparse metallic flooring onto the sole object of color in the launch room. I sink into the plush of the sofa gratefully and stutter a thank you as Cinna orders me a cup of warm cider. There's only half an hour before launch and I'm not nervous, I'm terrified. All of these people are killers, and I barely know who my allies are. I try to convince myself that I can survive alone but the idea of solitude in that bloody arena is so horrible. With shaking hands I bring the steaming cup to my lips and scald my tongue without thinking.

"No 'careful it's hot' warning, Cinna?" I ask him. He has his signature gold eyeliner on and a simple suit of black. I'm still dressed in my nightgown. _Hurry up, launch is early this year_, Effie had chided. I'd had no time to dress. She was jumpy this morning, eyes wide and voice high, and her eccentric wig and colored lipstick reflected that. _Oh my, I'm nervous. _She said as she patted my hand on the way down the elevator. _You'll let me know if you need anything, won't you? Katniss? Haymitch? _We reassured her once again that we would make it clear. She was almost as nervous as we were on the car ride here, although she is only handling sponsors.

Cinna and I don't talk much as he starts dressing me. This year's uniform is grey upon black and I despise the feeling of its smooth tightness as it is fitted over the thermal wear and undergarments. There isn't even a jacket this time, and instead of combat boots I slip on sleek grey running shoes.

"Make sure you find water and an alliance to join. Don't worry about Haymitch, from what I know he's all set. But you need to group with Finnick or Johanna, maybe both, to keep safe." Now he tucks the bottoms of the uniform into the shoes and somehow zip the two together.

"I can't keep safe by myself?" I ask. I scrape at my burnt taste buds with my teeth. "Rosalie and Johanna don't like me. I think I scared them away." I add the end of the statement as a bit of a joke.

"No, Rosalie doesn't hate you, she's simply jealous. And Johanna only asked to have your dress, is that really so offensive?"

"I have nothing to be jealous of." Cinna pins my mockingjay pin onto the front of my uniform and quickly braids my hair. _T-minus 120 seconds. _

"I'm still betting on you, Fire Girl." He gives me a tight squeeze and looking over his shoulder, tears are blurring my vision. This might be the last time I see Cinna.

"Thank you." I step into the glass tube and it seals with a soft thump. Then there is silence as the alarms flash red digits. _57. 56. 55. 54. _

Silence. Then as if I am watching the riot all over again on that television in the mayor's room, two Peacekeepers burst through the doors and swat my designer to the ground. I cannot hear anything but watch in horror as Cinna is slammed to the ground and beaten before my frozen eyes. There's blood on the floor and the last thing I see before the tube moves upwards and soil blocks my vision is Cinna mouthing one thing, eyes swollen and nose bleeding freely. _Win. _

_30. 29. 28._

There are no tears hidden in my eyes. I cannot feel anything but a sort of shocked numbness. And the desire to win. I must win._ Cinna told me so, Cinna was beaten, Cinna is dead. _I have an awful awful feeling threatening to launch me into the water below me and for the first time I notice my surroundings though the podium had risen half a dozen seconds ago.

It's water and beach, all of it is, except for the sections of forest branching off from the wheel of sand extending outwards, with the dark lake in the middle of the arena. Each podium is between two thin stretches of the beach, standing in the spray of the lake beneath the overcast sky. It's windy, and the water surges up angrily, wetting my shoes.

_19. 18. 17. _

Across from me, twenty-four blocks of lake away, stands Haymitch. I squint to recognize him and it's only his wide-legged stance that distinguishes him from the others. Cato is leaning forward, his arms already half-raised in preparation for the initial dive. I do the same and apparently the movement catches his eye, because he briefly turns his head.

_12. 11. 10. _

The moment is over and the adrenaline is pulsing through my veins, and once again that horrible beating is happening in my stomach. I must win. Cinna is dead. I must win.

_2. 1. _

"_Let the 75th annual Hunger Games, begin!"_

The sound of our bodies slamming through the water resonates in my muted ears long after the darkness blankets the terror of the first screams. I cannot understand the calm I suddenly lapse into, but welcome it as another stroke and another kick bring me closer to the island. There is a moment of reminisce, of better times. My father used to come home then, and my mother would lovingly drape a blanket over his cold, ashen shoulders as he sat down on the armchair by the fireplace. There was never a real fire flickering, but instead the dim burning of small sticks found nearby. I'd always meant to gather a trustable stack of logs, but there was nothing to slice through the thick forest wood and seldom were branches the right size to be carried across the fence. My father and I would go swimming sometimes, and we made a game of who could lather the least ripples as we glided along the undersurface of water.

When I lift myself onto the island only Finnick is there, casting fleeting glances across the arena as he leisurely slides several blades into his belt and lifts his designated weapon, a golden trident, out of it's holding on the steel walls of the Cornucopia.

I steal closer to him and the store of weapons and furtively snatch up a satchel of food and one of those dangerously colorful backpacks. I do not expect him to aim at me, and pause, hands on the end of the cold metal bow, when he does.

"Better run, Katniss. You don't want to get involved in this, do you?" Finnick says it playfully as if speaking of something clever, but there is a hard glint to his speckled eyes.

"No," I reply, wrenching the bow out. "I want for nothing yet I receive it." Then we are equals, a quickly fitted arrow trained at his defined chest and his pronged trident poised at mine.

Finnick says darkly, "Precisely my dilemma." Then the moment of tension is drawn away and he goes on to pivot and exchange his trident for knives. Bloody gashes and sliced foreheads soon turn the saltwater a deep purple-red and I barely register my hands stringing and restringing the weapon in my hands until Seeder lets out a horrible noise as an arrow pierces through her throat. She sinks into the lake, thrashing wildly.

_I must win, _I think again to hide the guilt. But I lower the bow and slink towards another one of those food bags and hastily stuff it into the backpack. Surveying the battlefield, still only the experienced swimmers have made it to the beach, others, primely Haymitch and Wiress, are still struggling to paddle forward.

Cato is insidiously and silently gathering the weapons lining the Cornucopia, while Enobaria coldly strikes tributes down. Cashmere and Gloss are aiming small razors at Rosalie, taunting her with an offhand tone to their growls. As I watch, another knife pierces her arm and she deliriously tries to run on the blood-slicked grains of sand, but Enobaria suddenly appears, spear dripping red and tangled in the fabric of someone's tribute uniform, and Gloss and Cashmere constrict her while Enobaria loops rope around her hands. She screams but they are lost in the din of the battle. Woof lies dead on the beach, Cato took the ethical approach and gently snapped his neck earlier. Cecilia has a white-fingered grip on Woof's wrist, in an effort to protect him, she herself had been subject to my arrow. I only now notice it protruding from her back and struggle to remember it ever leaving my hands.

I watch this all happen, motionless and smiling just a little bit, safe on the slope leading up to the forest. Finnick is still immersed in combat with one-armed Chaff. Neither are eager to deliver a fatal blow and it seems like a game. Little does he know that his district partner is crying for him, nor that the Careers spur her into the forest like cattle, uncaring of her stumbling and sharp glances. I meet her gaze for a moment and look away, shame and satisfaction clouding my judgement.

"Katniss!" Johanna launches herself at me, arms spread and fingers clawed like a squirrel leaping from one tree to another. This squirrel leaves behind the bloody remains of a tribute, guts piled in a bulging, slimy pile to one side. Johanna Mason strikes again, and even now I see the sadistic light in her bloodshot, mad eyes.

"You're turning into a savage." I snarl in a voice unlike my own, and of my own accord I start speaking, although only with my bow between us can I begin. "You're mad, Johanna. Calm down and we'll be allies."

The filthy axe slips from her hand onto the ground and a net of manic draws away from those black eyes.

"Fine, Kitty Kat." Johanna snaps, and I know that she's alright. Then,"What about Finn-Finn the Fish?" She grins, and I question her insanity anew.

It's so strange that we are leisurely speaking the midst of the putrid copper smell of blood wafting from dismembered bodies and maimed limbs laying across the sand and floating up to the surface of the water. It's still overcast and windy and a torrent of air flushes through the center of this wheel, and the twittering of birds and the roaring of the treetops join the cacophony of pain and war.

"Finn-Finn…I mean, Finnick will be fine alone, I promise you. Let's go now."

Once again I am reminded of that untroubled time before the 74th Hunger Games, before the Girl on Fire, when I held Prim's chubby hands as we skipped home from school. Only Johanna attempts to bite my arm when I reach for hers, and I draw away as she twitches immensely for several seconds, one eye half closed.

I decide that she is not a safe choice of ally and sprint away with her axe before she can catch up. _Into the forest. No allies. I'm alone this year._

_..._

_**Rosalie**  
_

"This is impossible," Cato says quietly and angrily. The jungle is humid and the sun has risen at an aberrant rate, and as I sit with my restrained hands looped over my knees, I feel a droplet of sweat trickle down the small of my back. The ground is black and porous like the surface of a sponge, and strangely resilient. I'm sitting on my own blood, a small pool of it from my thigh, sticky and warm.

I'm afraid to meet any of their glances and stare at nothingness, eyes closed.

"Kill her or recruit her. We don't keep hostages," he continues. "And she's bleeding all over the place, and useless besides."

_All they want to do is get Finnick. He'll come, they know he will. _

I hear Enobaria laugh in that fierce, cruel way of hers. She laughed that way last year when my tribute was killed. But afterwards when I was free to leave the viewing room and do as I wished, she was obligated to stay. I promised I would laugh in the precisely same way when the District 2 tributes died, but slowly they grew on me and I was spending as much time as she was in that room, looking over her shoulder at her screen. When Clove was killed I actually started crying but Enobaria simply turned around in her chair and slapped me across the face hard.

"How else will we get both District 4s? And since you seem to be so concerned about her welfare, you can take care of her. Fancy that, Cato? Don't say you don't want to. Do I need to remind you of how you would ask me to..."

"_Stop._ Fine, I will, but she'll most likely be dead in days." He still seems angry. I feel him stepping closer to me and then he grabs my chin and turns my face towards his. It's exactly like that time that man kidnapped me and we were alone behind a clock shop in the Capitol. He yanked my face towards his before unbuttoning his filthy shirt and then his pants.

I open my eyes then, and look into his frostfilled ones with as much enmity as I can muster.

"Enobaria used to say that one of her students was in love with me. Was that you, Cato?" It sounds cold and detached from my body, the voice that comes out. "Then again, she also told me that one of her students despised me more than anything."

There is no reply as he turns away and orders the others to go ahead. _We'll catch up, I just need to make sure she understands the rules. _He smirks at them reassuringly and Gloss pinches my cheek and Cashmere looks down at me scathingly before they leave with Enobaria.

"I'll tie you around the waist instead so you'll be able to keep the skin on your wrists," Cato says once they go. "Here, now you can walk." He cuts the bloodied rope off my wrists and then I am simply held prisoner by the new rope around my waist attached to his forearm. I tug at it, eyes narrowed. They must understand that even without, I wouldn't be able to escape any of them, yet they simulate a situation of prisoner and jailor.

He stands up from his crouch and forces me to stand as well. I grit back the pained whimpers lodged in my throat, yet an undignified squeak escapes my lips and Cato furrows his eyebrows at me. "Can you walk?"

I lift my eyes upwards coldly and straighten up, determined not to let him see my weakness. Of all things he must not be led to assume that he may touch me, even to carry me. My sponsors will not be thrilled. And it is immensely important that I not develop any type of attachment to these horrid people. The Careers I was with were bloodthirsty and obnoxious, I can see no difference half a decade later.

I throw my head back and start taking small steps forwards, although the sensation of the cut on my knee reopen and rub against the fabric sends jolts of pain up my leg. I can sense him shooting me a strange, lolling look before he starts walking as well.

So we take wobbly steps and slowly advance. In actuality, I am almost shuffling due to my knee and Cato is muttering about how ridiculous this entire idea is while impatiently keeping pace. Enobaria and the others have cut down the largest, thorned vines, but there are a million smaller ones that curl and frond in our path. About two hours and maybe four miles in, we catch sight of the group ahead, rather, two figures crouched over something. It's Enobaria and Cashmere and even from far away the sound of Cashmere's frenzied sobs reach us.

Cato subconsciously breaks into a run and I start half leaping, half fast-walking to catch up but end up tripping on a wayward vine and sprawl forwards. Luck destined that I land on the biggest patch of thorns, and I do, the sharp dagger-like points immediately piercing through the thin uniform and into my flesh.

"Oh _stop moving! _Dammit!"

When I can finally pick myself up Cato laughs nervously and mutters an apology while I bite my lip angrily while examining the dark streaks of blood the scratches have brought.

I jab him in the chest. "I don't want to walk with him anymore," I say accusingly to Enobaria. Cashmere is still sobbing a bit and bending over Gloss as if to kiss him. "He's a horrible caretaker."

No one minds me except for Cato who raises his eyes to the sky and coughs self-consciously. "I beg to differ, actually."

"Oh shut up, _you,_" I jab him again, "are going to fix me up later. I swear, Not even a day in and I'm ruined. Because of you and your damn group!"

We walk forwards, furious at one another. The rope stretches taut between us and he still doesn't slow down a bit. We find out that Gloss had run into the force-field barrier lining the edge of the arena, and Enobaria is refusing to give him mouth-to-mouth. Cashmere is a wreck, barely able to close her mouth long enough to stop wailing, and her short gasps are nothing to be transferred to another.

"Go on." Cato pushes me forwards, not maliciously, but his hands are rough on my back and I have to stop myself from falling again. "You can give CPR, can't you?"

"I can but I won't. You should do it and establish your homosexual side. Suits you, seeing that you barely pay attention to Katniss even though she wants nothing more."

He raises an eyebrow, then sniggers a little. "Just go, or we'll all be on your back about it."

I glare at him for a moment, his confident eyes and pretty, vicious mouth. He's right, if Gloss dies everyone will blame me, although they are the ones who are holding me as essentially, prisoner. I hate him. I hate them all.

Yet I kneel down and take deep sniffs through my nose while blowing the air into Gloss's hard mouth. I have to pause to intake more and more air in between and when I feel the body jump and the lungs weakly rise on their own, I am panting deep, deep, not deep enough breaths.

"You…owe…me…so much…" I manage. For a terrifying moment I cannot breathe at all and there is a buzzing in my ears that plays to the rabid beating of my heart. Then the colorful bushes and black earth shift a hundred degrees away, blurring and refocusing and blurring again. And like sand seeping through a sift, my consciousness slips away.

_Heave ho, move slow, _

_Tonight we start, tonight we are; _

_Heave ho, ash and snow, _

_Scarlet warm white rose,, gunshots, we are cold,_

_Tonight the mockingjay will rise,_

_Tonight sparks will fly._

…

Twenty miles away, Cornelius Snow watches the girl he once adored collapse, a smile curling beneath the white of his mustache. This is the way to oppress._ Perhaps_, he mused, one hand leaning upon the balcony above the control room. Perhaps he could humiliate that little rebel as she humiliated him. _Yes. Yes. _

And while his eyes are riveted on that one screen of hundreds, the figure of that scrawny District 12 girl passes on the left. Snow wets his lips and studies the moving figure for a moment. Katniss Everdeen. Victor of the 74th annual Hunger Games. _How can a sheep transform into a wolf in a night?_ He asks himself, snakelike eyes flashing. His true victim is half-dead already, he chuckles with a bit of remorse; but here lies another one. Katniss Everdeen is dangerous as well. None of them are safe. Not that Cato Greene, not that horrid girl Johanna, not one. Snow's eyes flash again, malicious and narrowed.

_Tonight a fire will die. _


	7. Tell Me,Would You Kill To Save Our Lives

**CHAPTER 7: Tell Me If You Would Kill To Save Our Lives**

No matter how many times that you told me you wanted to leave

No matter how many breaths that you took you still couldn't breathe

No matter how many nights that you'd lie wide awake to the sound of the poison rain

Where did you go

Where did you go

Where did you go

As the days go by the night's on fire

...

**Cato Greene, District 2. Sect 8. **

It is impossible to understand the Capitol in all their strangeness. They raise and nurture a healthy blushed cheeked young girl into a sickly young woman who can barely sustain herself. They seem to support our tangled mass of young love, yet both Katniss and I, Finnick and Rosalie, Cashmere and Gloss, have been cast as pawns for yet another game. They provide thin uniforms designed for tropical weather, yet as the sun sinks in the west, the arena's thermostat is dropped, gradually but surely.

The jungle yawns with hidden shadows and hangs heavy with the overwhelming scent of rotting vegetation. The magenta carcass of an unknown creature crunches as Gloss' uneven steps land heavily to one side. Meters away, the sickly sweetness of fruit melts into putrid puddles, turned black with swarms of flies. The vines are elastic and wilting, and broad, crumbling leaves and petals litter the ground. The earth around us is dying. Strange bodies fall from the darkening canopy above, already ridden with holes and writhing with worms.

"It would be different if we knew where these were coming from." Cashmere continues to make such comments while bitterly carrying Rosalie and watching over her brother. Enobaria and I move ahead, clearing away the rare vine or two that protrude across our path. "Everything is falling down dead or rotten. It's so strange."

It is strange. Previous to entering this stretch of jungle, the scenery had been very much alive. We had not seen any animals or fruits, but the cheerful chirping of mockingjays and an occasional rustling among the trees made clear the presence of life. Now it is eerily silent, with only the breeze ruffling the dying leaves. Its unnerving.

"Let's get out of here. We'll go back to the Cornucopia and decide which stretch to hunt from there," Enobaria says, uneasy. She glances at me for agreement, which is unusual.

"I suggest we hurry, then," I add quietly. Cashmere and Gloss don't dare disagree. Enobaria was a legend, is still a legend, known for her perfect aim and tendency to remain uninjured throughout entire scrimmages. She was supposedly quite beautiful at the time of her Games as well, only adding to her base of supporters. Now most of her younger facade has morphed into callused hands and strong muscles. I know that she has a scar above one eye and several marks on her neck. The former is a souvenir of our earliest endeavors as mentor and mentored. She is no longer beautiful. But she is still a formidable ally.

"Cato, she's waking up. What should I do." It is no more a question than it is a statement. Cashmere is tired and sore from the weight of Rosalies unconscious body- she has complained often-and apparently has developed a great dislike for her.

"I personally would consider putting her down," I reply, and she wrinkles her nose at my sarcasm before unceremoniously dropping the body with a dull thud. Rosalie moans softly and after a moment she pushes herself up, eyes squinting in the darkness.

"Heheh...she thinks that she's with Odair." Enobaria snickers in my ear. "Don't say anything and see what she'll do." Even in the indigo dark I can feel the grin upon her face.

"We don't have time for this," I reply, turning away from the figure laying on the ground. Its dark and much colder than earlier, and we have agreed that spending a night in this ghastly place is unwise. There are no matches or flashlights in our bags,, and it seems that hardened biscuits are all the Capitol could spare from their lavish feasts this year for our meager rations.

I hear Gloss' strange chuckle and then shuffling that brings inquisitive fingers upon my back, pressing into my shoulder blades and then snapping away immediately with a hiss of recognition. Rosalie's eyes glow in the darkness, angry and upset, all sleep gone from their accusing depths.

"I forgot."

I look at her then, truly look at her, and in that moment I see nothing but a child in her averted gaze and rosebud lips, a child silently waiting for a moment to pass, for the eyes of others to shift, so they may cry without anyone watching.

"Of course," I say, and we continue through the dark. It is half an hour later when the sky is finally the darkest of blues, and speckled with stars. As we push through another barricade of vines, strangled squawks and the sound of rustling shakes the trees above. Everyone twitches when a rotting, turkey like creature spirals down between us. It is infested with worms as long as my arm , which squirm away from the carcass and towards our feet upon impact with the spongy ground.

Cashmere screams and jumps backwards, elbowing Rosalie, who is still tied by a rope, to the ground, where one of the pink grey parasites lay dormant. Immediately the few screams morphs into terrified screeches, almost deafening. All tributes throughout the arena are most likely assuming that the Careers are torturing some poor animal or the sorts. They always associate us with cruelty and bloodlust, when we are all just trained to do what we can.

Gloss finally untangles the two. Cashmere grabs hold of her brother's arm and calms down in that way, but Rosalie is only able to walk beside them, eyebrows knit with fear and hands twisting upon each other.

"She made her best friend go crazy, and now its her turn," Enobaria smirks in my ear, but her voice carries in the stillness of the dead jungle. There is a halting intake of breath from behind.

The anthem begins to play. The Capitol's symbol blazes brightly up on the seamless sky. At times it is difficult to remember that the arena is not reality. Every gust of wind is an illusion, and it only serves as a bitter reminder of the president's hold over our lives. We are puppets.

Eleven are dead; both from Districts 5, 8, and 9, the females from 3 and 11. The males from 7 and 10. One of the morphlings from District 6. We are silent. Enobaria may have been friends with some of the dead, but she does not say anything as their faces flash across the sky. Rosalie, however, claps a hand over her mouth. When the anthem fades into distant melody, it is too dark to see what is beneath our feet, and the wind brings new cold. It is a strategy of the Game makers; they do not like to deal with action or kills in the night. The arena is too dark, most of Panem is asleep, and most tributes should be as well. By creating a difficult atmosphere in which to travel, sponsors and mentors are given time to rest and strategize until the synthesized sun appears once again.

"We have no choice but to set up camp. Start a fire and unpack the sleeping bags. I'll take first watch and Cashmere will take second," I say. Enobaria, although seemingly indifferent to the deaths, is stoically silent. She nods at me when I speak and begins clearing the moldy leaves and bruised flowers away from the ground.

"Wait, we can't. We can't stay here," Rosalie nervously says. "Everything is dead."

"Of course not, those animals simply have strangely rotting appearances, they're all actually alive and well," Gloss scoffs. "Don't be stupid, Rosalie."

"Funny. I suppose you naturally appear pale with lack of air. I see no point in anyone, especially not _me_ helping you."

"He was being sarcastic," I tell her. She doesn't seem to have understood, and Gloss is too indignant to speak.

"I know, Cato. I am _not _stupid." She pauses, "What I meant was, there's an unknown force at play here, and there is a possibility of that force killing us in the night."

"Would that 'force' you speak of happen to be you yourself?" Enobaria sniggers, and Cashmere joins in. They have lit a small damp fire that flickers weakly, and Gloss is the only one tending to it. He is intentionally not taking part in ridiculing Rosalie, and is quick to elbow his sister and murmur something into her ear. I would laugh under normal circumstances, but Enobaria is being consistently cruel for no apparent reason, and it is a rather personal attack.

"No one likes you." Rosalie states quietly, then she goes off as far as the rope will allow, and stares into the jungle, obviously upset. I find it amusing that she decided to retort with the simplest, most childish statement, when I know so many others were brimming upon her tongue. Minutes pass and none of us make any effort to apologize. Gloss nudges Enobaria but she has a hardset, angry expresion. We hear Rosalie sniffling, and I turn to watch her.

The first parachute appears as her shoulders begin to shake with silent sobs. Of course, the moment a single tear falls from her eyes her sponsors are tripping over each other to comfort her. I suppose there will be a knife in there, for her to sever the rope and run from us. There also most likely will be food and water.

The others are facing away from us, finally settled down. It's late, approaching midnight, and all of us are hungry and unbearably thirsty. Cashmere has speared a mutant animal and roasts the already dead body above the fire, more for her entertainment than anything else. She has had her fun with Rosalie and is bored now.

The white package billows across the ground, gently gliding to a stop beneath my feet. I pick it up, it is heavy and the cartridge is larger than usual. I walk towards Rosalie and stand behind her for a moment. She's barely shorter than Katniss and just as thin, but her curves are soft and not angular. I remember what she had said almost a year ago.

"_You really should be more careful with your sponsors. Refusing their demands and then calling one scandalous…you're standing on the edge, my dear."_

She had been poised and confident then, fazed by nothing and surrounded by power. I look at her now and it is a shell of that girl at the banquet. She is no longer confident or poised. There is a fissure of sadness and hate pounded into her chest and nothing will ever close it.

_"You know, if it weren't for this Quell, we could have turned out differently," _

She senses me there and all of a sudden the shaking stops, and her voice is ice-cold.

"You are nothing but a Capitol pawn and a ruthless Career, Cato. It's very disappointing. I now see that even under different circumstances, we could have never become friends nor anything beyond." She seems to know what I am reminiscing upon, her voice bitter and quiet. "I'm not going to turn around, so give me my parachute."

I narrow my eyes and push one side of it into her back. She does not flinch nor make any other sound, but silently reaches over her shoulder and takes it. I am the one to retract my hand, my gaze is steel, cold and gray, pounding upon the back of her head.

"I remember the first time I met you, Rosalie." I say no more and walk back to my original spot near the fire. Cashmere looks up lazily, and smiles, watching my anger radiate through my eyes. She stands up and leans on my arm, lush and pretty. But she is not the same as the girl standing ten meters away in the dark. No one is the same as she is, and no one can convey their mistrust towards others as well as she can. Capitol pawn. Hah. Cashmere sees me looking at Rosalie again, and pushes her mouth close to mine and makes a tsking sound, eyes wild.

"C'mere Cato. You look like you need a kiss." She puckers her lips yet seems surprised when I quickly, angrily press mine to them. She is taken aback for a moment, but then smiles."You're still upset. I wonder. Heh. I didn't think you would do that, actually."

Then she sits down and resumes scraping the burnt fur off the creature with her knife. Gloss stares at me despicably. It's common knowledge among the tributes that he and his sister have a relationship that moves beyond the bounds of siblinghood. He detests me, he always has, I know. And I feel as if he wants to kill Enobaria, with the looks he gives her.

There is a sudden clashing noise behind us and we all turn, to see Rosalie juggling several water bottles. The cartridge from her parachute has fallen to the ground, and food tied in a checkered red cloth spills from it. Enobaria's eyes widen a bit as she sees the cheese and bread...in certain areas she is very similiar to Clove. Neither can resist food, and neither consider others in the process of obtaining it.

"Hello, foul insignificant savages, I come bearing gifts. Behold the holy water instilled in these bottles." We all stare at her quizzically as she hands us each one of the plastic cylinders. She doesn't save one for herself, I notice, and immediately afterwards she goes on to gesture at the cartridge laying on it's side upon the black ground.

"Now feast your oddly shapen eyes upon the bountiful harvest."

I feel the corners of my mouth involuntarily curving upwards.I'd forgotten how amusing she was. Gloss is literally falling over himself laughing, Cashmere still has a quizzical look, and Enobaria has already started taking rapid sips from her water, and the food has been spread on its napkin before her.

"This is nice, thanks Rose," Gloss says. Cashmere mutters a grudging thank you. I don't say anything, and I don't partake in the "bountiful harvest of the powerful Cornucopia" as the other three are. Rosalie doesn't eat or drink either. I wonder what her motives are, being so generous after being dealt such low blows by Enobaria.

"Of course, dear." She replies sweetly, but she then mouths something to herself when he turns away. _I hate you. Go to hell. _

She sits down and dejectively stares at the fire for a while as the others eat. Enobaria offers me a slab of the cheese and a loaf of the soft, white bread. Rosalie's eyes spark with interest as I take it, as and she watches me boldly, until we are both angry again and her eyes are narrowed until only slits of blue are hidden under lush lashes. I hold the bread in my hand and examine it to avoid her gaze. And at that moment, I realize the danger we have slipped into.

"The food is poi-" I begin to say, lifting my head again, furious at our stupidity, but Rosalie has always been a lethally quick thinker. She surges forward and slaps her cold, small hand over my mouth. I quickly push her away and finish. "Stop eating, dammit! The food is poisoned!"

But I am too late, when I push Rosalie to the ground I see that Enobaria and both District 1 tributes are slumped over, food still clutched in their hungry hands and open mouths. They aren't dead yet, or the cannon would sound, but the poison is most likely working towards their hearts as I speak.

"Rosalie," I whip a knife against her cheek and pin her down to the ground, until she must completely sprawl out like a sea star to keep me from carving her face into a thousand delicate pieces.

"Cato." She gasps my name as I lean my weight upon her body, until our uniforms are pressing against each other and I can feel her sharp hips digging into mine. She can barely breathe, I know, and her shuddering, weak attempts force me to lift my chest off hers.

"You dirty little bitch, aren't you clever? Won't your sponsors be pleased when I kill you?" I growl, sliding the blade down her chin until the point is slicing at her neck. I twist the knife a bit and she finally releases her mask of courage and gives a little scream, the blood welling up on the cut and trickling down into the rivet above her defined collarbones.

"It's not lethal! It's only a sleeping powder!" she begs me, crying out when I press the tip deeper into the flesh. She's terrified of me, and her sobs get louder and her tears are mixing with the blood on her cheek. And... I realize that she is telling the truth. She's telling the truth. And I've hurt her badly.

"Do you really care about them so much?" she asks me between sobs. The words are mangled and full of fear and pain, and I feel her arm struggling to clutch at something. I suddenly think that she might shatter if I lean my weight on her any longer, and clench my stomach, still pinning her down but supporting my own weight. She closes her eyes tightly and gasps when I accidently drive the point of the knife even deeper into the fissure in her neck. It's bleeding profusely now, and I carefully extract the half inch of silver; hoping that I have not damaged her too badly.

"No," I say. My voice drops to a whisper. "No...I actually don't." And I know that it is true, I do not care for nor love Cashmere or Gloss, and Enobaria has never been a true friend. A mentor, yes, but she has told me that she would be the one to kill me nonetheless. "_I will destroy you, Cato."_

"Then why...?" She cannot wipe her eyes and the tears lay dormant upon her smooth skin and clump her eyelashes. She stares at me with glassy eyes, and at that moment, with the blood smeared across one side of her face and her hair tangled and full of dirt, she is more beautiful than anything I have touched. And I have a sudden urge to touch her, to breathe her in.

"Tell me. Please," she asks again, her arm finally laying still. The sapphire eyes are still filmy with a sheen of pain, and she coughs hoarsely. She's sick. The common cold. I now notice the flaws hidden under her initial sense of overwhelming beauty, and even so they are not truly flaws: the freckle under her chin, the watering of her eyes that is unrelated to her crying fits, the dryness of her lips and the pink tint to her eyes.

Yet...

I speak, leaning in closer and closer until my nose brushes against hers. There is no flinching and she maintains her cold, distant stare. I cannot help but think that Katniss would have shuddered or blushed by now. Rosalie remains the same, waiting; beautiful, motionless.

"Because I want to kill you, Rosalie," I murmur, and she is still motionless and I receive no reaction. Then, it comes, late and awkward, a small soft laugh. I turn my head to one side and indulge in her lips, kissing her again and again. Softly, ever so softly and then, suddenly I feel myself ravaging them, stealing what I can...rough in ways Katniss would never tolerate. But she closes her eyes and simply lays there, mouth closed and still. It's like kissing a statue, yet I cannot stop. A small moan surfaces out from my throat. She laughs at me, turning her head away so I must stop.

She finally speaks. "Stop...I think that your dementia is causing your mind to indulge in illusions, I'm not Katniss. I'm not the girl you _love_ so much." she says, reminding me of who I am again. She emphasizes parts of the sentence and I wish she wouldn't.

I pause and then slowly move away. She looks the same as before, unchanged and unfazed. Her eyelids are heavy and shelter indifferent, untouched eyes. She _is _a statue, and I am simply another human to her. And now she is reminding me that I have other obligations to fill, expectations and promises to meet. _Katniss Everdeen. I am in love with the Girl on Fire. _

"Good." She sniggers uncharacteristically and coughs. "Well, I suppose you should go ahead."

I laugh. "With what? I've taken more than fair from you." She looks at me frostily and sniffs and then coughs again. I am still laying on her and I sit back now, allowing her to wipe at her nose with one hand.

"Kill me, _not _sexually assault me, you idiot. Don't you want to?" She is playing the part of an inquisitive child, asking about things they already somewhat understand. I can't possibly do the former, and the latter is the epitome of temptation for me. She knows. A smile fleets across her lips but quickly drowns in another bout of coughing, coughs that wrack her frame and making her arms shiver. She can't last a day in this weather, while Clove and Katniss could endure cold for days on end.

I don't answer immediately, but laugh again.

"Why? Do you? Why don't you take your best shot on me. As consolidation for earlier?"

She smiles strangely, as if the thought itself is stupid. I suppose it is, but I am here, uninjured and violating her, and she is hurt and indignant. She sits up and her mouth is open in a silent laugh, eyes closed.

"That's ridiculous, you should _never_ promise anyone that."

I expect her to slap me or attempt to push me, but then there is an explosion of pain in my chest as she surges forwards and pushes her knife...my knife...into it. I stare for a moment, there, with the warm, scarlet blood bubbling forth and over the buried handle, my eyes narrowing with realization. Damn. Goddamn. Dammit. She plants a small kiss on my forehead, as if apologizing for the fatal wound.

"At least I missed your heart." And then she cuts the rope and is running away before I can do anything else.

I see her morph into the gloom before I can no longer ignore the pain and need to bow my head in order to stay conscious. My hands are slick with my own blood and I taste it in my mouth, a bitter copper.

"I don't think so, Rose." Drops of red fall to the ground, splattering against the black. I chuckle ruefully.

"_Cato, you will be killed by one of two people. Me, or that wretched girl."_

Something flashes and shakes the arena, originating far from where we are. I look up at the sky.

And then, spots and colors dance.

**...**

**Katniss Everdeen, District 12. Sect 8. **

The sky shakes with a great peal of thunder and there is suddenly a electrifying, buzzing sound from nearby. The darkness is broken...the mass of jungle before me is illuminated with the lightning that descends down like a pale phantom among shadows. It must be near midnight now, the report was over two hours ago and the sky is a deep indigo clothed with cold stars. It's terribly cold, and I rub my hands together and try my best to cover them with my sleeves. Each breath as I walk appears as clouds of fog, and I wish that I had made camp earlier in a tree half a kilometer back. That particular tree was a towering, branched king compared to these smooth-trunked saplings. But now that the opportunity is past, I might just find a hidden pocket of air somewhere in these tangled vines and try to sleep.

It's strange to travel alone. Actually, not strange, really, but different. I am used to silently moving as one body, as two with Gale; and I am able to observe small things: the rustle of a bush as a salamander slithers away, how the vines slowly begin to regrow as soon as I pass...and the fact that there were exactly twelve lightning bolts that met the earth moments ago. I thank those years hunting for my sharp senses and adjust the bow on my shoulders as I slowly cut through a large vine blocking my path.

Yet, while I am used to this solitude, it is different, and unnervingly so. There is not another tribute nor ally to speak with, and I have moved dangerously slow today and have fallen over wayward vines consistently. There is no Clove, and her absence seems to balloon in this silence and linger in every crevice of the arena. I remember her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when Cato spoke to her, the tears as she died in his arms. And now, now a year after, I realize that she had loved him. She had loved him more than anything in the world and I had taken him from her. And yet, as she died she looked at me with mild, beautifully fragile eyes and told me that I was a good hunter. Cato said what I wanted to but couldn't. _I love you, Clove. _

He did love her. He loved her more than he could have ever loved me, and I feel sick all of a sudden. Had I deprived them of a lifetime together? Their love for each other was subtle and indirect, but it was unmatchable.

I miss them both so much. I miss her, and I miss him too. He's stubborn and proud, and was so arrogant and obnoxious in the beginning; yet now in training and interviews he has changed. He is more careful with his words and actions and I see that he is no longer a boy, he has grown and with him the snickers and jests have gone. I wonder how he is doing. Cato Greene and his pack of careers. They must be feasting upon some rich meal now, with all his sponsors.I heard that he got all of them back somehow... Johanna said that he slept with the wealthiest, most important ones and won them back that way. Goddamn no. I should have smacked her in the face when she had told me. Because all the nights we were together on that train for the tour, he didn't do anything but look at me and smile that sad smile of his.

Plus, I suppose they still have Rosalie alive and captive as well, and with the thought a pinch of anger appears and plagues me. It's obvious why, she has mastered manipulation a thousand times over, and no amount of beauty or kindness will ever change that she has promised love to dozens of men and destroyed them when she left for another. Its all a game of sorts for her. She really only cares for appearances anyways, while Finnick seems to vary between beautiful and ugly, young and old; she only is seen with young, handsome men. Johanna told me that she currently has three affairs going on, and Finnick has two. Johanna indeed seems to keep rather accurate information on certain persons of the night.

Finnick must be devastated. I laugh out loud suddenly with the thought, and the sound reverberates back to me off the trees. He is extraordinarily thoughtless at times, with that vase of blooms that is forever fresh and sits dormant on the very same ledge; the way he recites a love poem when only moments ago Rosalie had come in with another man; the way he taught me, of all people, to use a trident. It strikes me as amusing that the very thing, the lone thing that can make the notorious Finnick Odair happy is the very person who I despise the most. It is the only opinion that President Snow and I share. Coriolanus Snow has taken me from my family twice and has murdered thousands of people. He has cast children into brutal entertainments and corrupted the minds of the Capitol. And yet, we have this one thing in common. Its a rather honorable goal to work towards...achieving _her _death.

Another of the bright red salamanders crosses my path and I nearly step on it, my mind many kilometers away. As an instinct I shoot at it, and there is a squelch as it is pinned to the ground, and disgusting interiors begin to slither out. I feel foolish for soiling my arrow with such a vulgar creature, and immediately crouch down and remove the arrow from the gaping, bleeding hole. I snap my hand back and stifle a scream. I need to choke back the bile rising in my throat at the sudden decaying smell and sight of the insides. There is not normal flesh... It is putrid, rotting flesh that hides hoards of worms, who emerge and wave about like a sea anemone(something I have only heard of) or grass in the wind. I am so disgusted that I simply run forwards, running to put distance between that half dead salamander and I, not even bothering to get the arrow any longer.

When I stop, I look around and realize that something is terribly wrong. The leaves are no longer full and luscious, and the air is no longer humid nor filled with the nighttime chirps of birds. It is silent and there is only the sound of the withered leaves scraping against each other in the breeze. It's so eerie and unnatural that this can only be some type of trap designed by the Capitol. I wonder what might be lurking in here, perhaps a beast or a deadly type of plant? Of course not a plant, everything here is dead and going grey. The very ground seems like glass beneath my feet, and my uneven, injured steps seem ten thousand times louder than they are.

I pivot on my feet, wary and ready to leave from this frightening place. What is wrong with this stretch of arena? Why is it not lush and healthy as the rest is? I have been traipsing through the jungle for hours and not once had I seen such a spectacle. Yet about six hours ago there had been screams, horrendous screams that left my skin crawling- from this direction. Those screams were of no human, they were the screams of an animal ripping a tribute apart. I'm sure of it. And then there were the shrieks of a female tribute from around here only a few hours ago. They quickly faded, and I had assumed that it was a kill by the Careers...but was it? There may be some type of horrendous creature lurking through the undergrowth right now, and I am simply musing.

I string my bow and turn, ready to leave this place, but in the time I have taken to ponder, the vines have grown back, thicker and stronger than before.

"What." I say flatly. "That's just ridiculous."

I have only one knife, and it is already dulling from the constant use of it throughout the day. My hands are freckled with blisters and cuts, and the skin is raw to the touch. I sigh and walk along the newly grown wall of vines, looking for a weak spot. It is solid, and I angrily set about cutting through one section of vines, my hands burning with the effort. Purposely manipulating the arena in order to disadvantage certain tributes should 't be allowed. But of course it is, and of course President Snow must hate me enough to do so.

"_You've dug a deep hole for yourself," _Haymitch said. And now the Capitol plans to throw my dead corpse into that hole. I have done too much to be forgiven and disregarded. I am the mockingjay, and they have killed...they have killed my stylist for my actions last night, and now they will kill me as well. But no, they will not. I _will _win and I _will _help the rebels destroy this society. Every last card of that small, glass box of cards will be ripped apart and the Hunger Games will be of no more. I will win. I promise myself that.

There is rustling.

It is that feeling of knowing something is about to appear and not being fast enough to prepare for it. I drop the knife and it falls backwards somehow and slashes through my uniform to cut the flesh beneath. The rustling is louder now, closer, closer. Everything is going wrong and my bow catches on my braid and I rip it out and string the bow as quickly as humanly possible. The metal makes an obvious clanging sound when I pull the arrow taut and even in the epitome of fear I send silent death wishes to the Capitol.

There is eerie silence again. I am afraid to let go of my arrow, lest I never find it again or it miss. By the time I am stringing another ready, I may be dead.

Then it comes, and I shoot and roll to one side to avoid it. The jagged knife bites into my ankle and remains stuck in the flesh when I am crouching in pain to one side, perhaps whoever threw it anticipated my actions, or they were simply lucky.

I was not lucky though. I was golden. My arrow hit the target.

I am sure of it and after a minute or so of silence there is weak rustling in the direction of which I shot, as if the offender is trying to escape. I force myself up and fall to the ground again, but I am quickly gritting my teeth and tightening the muscles in the other leg in order to support myself. The image of the teeth of of the knife sunken into my skin is sickening and I roughly extract it.

I hobble to my left, bow ready and ankle sending me to hell and back. I feel as if the bone is about to break in two and shatter, the shrapnels of pain piercing me is unbearable and I must remember Cinna's death in order to move forward without crying out with every step I take.

They leave a trail of blood, which is foolish. The sensible thing to do would be to attempt to stop the flow from the wound, but I can see myself and others forgetting to do so in moments of extreme tension like such. Strangely I am unafraid and the throbbing of my wound numbs and sends shocks up my body as I see the scarlet blood, a great pool of it that paves a drying path. I feel almost eager to find the tribute from whence the blood came.

I've become like a Career. Is this was Enobaria and Clove and Cato feel when they are about to make a kill? This calm and this confidence? It's like morphine, the thrill and pain can be soothing. Soothing, dangerous, and deadly.

I follow the trail, the smell of copper, the smell of blood overwhelming and dizzying. My ankle may have succumbed to numbness, but the catches and branches in the path still cause me to wobble and buck. Although I don't feel it, I see my blood trickling out of the wound and mixing with that of the ground. Finally the rustling stops in front of me and I burst through a curtain of swaying branches.

"Hello Katniss. Have you come to kill me?"

Her voice is weak and unsurprised. Her entire front is a mass of matted blood, and one side of her face and neck is badly wounded. I study her momentarily and conclude that my arrow had completely punctured through the tendons adjoining her shoulder to her chest. Rosalie Darling is at my mercy, and already perniciously hurt.

"I suppose it's karma. A wound for a wound...a death for a death," she laughs bitterly without humor, and drops to her knees, clutching at her shoulder. The arrow that still protrudes from it. She does not have any weapons or supplies with her, and looks like nothing I have ever seen before. What is it that Cato called me on that last interview we had together? She is a dying swan.

"A death?" I ask coldly, and seeing that there is no possibility of her overtaking me in her current state, I lift her head with one end of my bow. She looks at me with anger and regret brewing behind cloudy eyes. I am able to tell if she lies this way.

She doesn't answer but only asks again, desperate this time as if finally letting go of her pride at an attempt to save her own life."Have you come to kill me, Katniss?"

"Explain yourself." I move my arm so that the pointed metal is not at her throat, but directly nudging the arrow in her shoulder, causing her to wince and shudder with pain. It might be immense, she's tottering like she might pass out and the blood begins to drip down her uniform with the sudden action.

"No! Why should I when all you do is hurt me when I have done nothing wrong to you!"

I think for a moment, my cold, steel gaze fixed on her equally serious, glittering one. She is most definitely going to pass out or die in the next dozen minutes, and I need to think quickly. She is sincere, she believes that she has done nothing wrong and is ready to defend that with full conviction. And now that I truly reminiscence, the only reason I detest her so much is because of her relationship with Cato.

"You know why I hate you, don't you?"

"I am a sex symbol, Katniss. You see how Finnick acts, he and I are the same. If we see something that we want, we will not hesitate to take it. Through what means we acquire it is irrelevant."

"Go to hell with your excuses," I snap, and bring the bow back. She flinches enormously, scrambling backwards. She thought that I was going to hit her. She's afraid of me and I realize that right now I have become little more than a ruthless Career tribute, indifferent to others' suffering and fear. I am not the Mockingjay right now, I am a killer. And that should not be true. How can I lead a rebellion when I am torturing the people's' favorite tribute? No one would support me and I would be known as the uncompassionate girl I want to be right now, not as the Girl on Fire.

Out of the corner of my eye something dives towards the earth. I do not shoot although it is my instinct to, and when the body of a ratlike mammal splatters near Rosalie's head, pink organs flying through the air to finally hit against her unwounded cheek, I am glad that I had not.

Her face wrinkles into a scowl and then unknits with extreme frustration. She wipes the liquid off her chin and then stands up suddenly and screams, furious. In the unbearable silence the sound is easily piercing, and I must cover my ears after mere seconds because they begin to hurt, straining to either hear or ignore the shattering noise.

She wails several times more and even through my tightly clamped hands I can hear her, and without doubt, so can the rest of the arena.

When she is done I cautiously uncover my ears and force her down again with my bow. I take out a knife from my belt. Mercy will breed nothing but regret, it is better to simply end this controversy of a life now and face what consequences there may be later. I drop the knife and it sinks point first into her ribs. She shudders and her entire body tenses with pain.

"Get it over with and perhaps you'll still have time to see Cato once more before he dies." She coughs out, voice raspy, she looks as if she is suffering beyond anything right now, her face is completely pale and the contrast of red, white, and black make her look like a doll.

"Excuse me?"

"Two birds with one stone, Katniss. We both die and you won't need to worry anymore..." She stubbornly grabs my wrist and pulls herself up.

"Or I suppose it could be the other way around. I'm very wealthy, and medication is very expensive. Do you know that?" she whispers.

I am on my feet in an instant. It was obvious that she escaped from the Careers in some way, they would never simply release her... but she is telling me that she fatally wounded Cato? What if she is lying? Yet, I will regret not going tonight more than any spared life if she is indeed speaking the truth.

_Do you know that?_

I wonder if Haymitch would approve of this.

"If I spare you, you _will_ send medication in for him, if you are telling the truth at all. Understand?" I growl at her and pull the knife from her bloody side. She gasps with pain.

"Yes. Go, and Taye will take care of it. Thank you, Katniss Everdeen."

I am gone as soon as _yes_ passes her lips.

**…**

**The Capitol, Twenty Miles Away**

"I feel like I'm going to die, Taye. I never knew that knives hurt so much."

Brutus begins to laugh when the District 4 tributes voice comes murmuring through his headset. Its nearly two AM in the morning and only that fretful Capitol woman and President Snow's nephew are still in the mentor room. The surfaces of their desks are littered with mugs of coffee and pieces of paper with messages and plans scrawled across them. The nephew, Taye Helistin, anxiously watches his screen. The other 9 mentors-or representatives depending on where they were chosen from- are refreshing themselves with the small feast in the viewing room, sleeping, or fishing for sponsors next door.

"Don't laugh at her." The dark eyed man coldly stands up and passes through the double doors at the end of the dimly lit room. It is warmer in the sponsor room, and much brighter. The sudden lighting of a dozen chandeliers causes him to squint until his pupils dilated. His uncle had lawed that the sponsors should be in ultimate comfort and luxury as they were used to, and his promise stood in the mahogany tables and rich leather sofas. One screen spanned an entire wall, split into twelve different viewpoints. Each aristocrat had headphones streaming the voice of their chosen tribute, and many were clutching their purses and wallets in exhausted silence. They had been arguing, cheering, fretting and crying for hours, and finally at twilight their hysterics are exhausted. The nightly round of insomnia pills would be delivered at exactly three o'clock in the morning; completely refreshing and restoring the minds and bodies of the tired. When he enters the room, the sponsors at the District 4 tables, turn and stand up. They are all very beautiful and several are very old. He had attended nearly all grand events in the Capitol, and he could clearly pick out those who had recently had their bodies reformed.

The Career sponsors made up more than half of the occupied tables. This year District 12 had accumulated quite the collection though, and the far tables are still rowdy over Katniss Everdeen's scramble with his own tribute.

"Food and water," he orders quietly, and a bronze-haired man stands up and passes him with a cold look, off to compose his note and purchase what had been asked of. Taye goes on to list the needed sponsor gifts.

_Bandages. A knife. A new uniform. A rucksack of supplies. _

"Medication," he finally says. Not one of the young men speak up. They cannot afford the medication that their tribute needs, and even together the cost is too high, although only one day has passed and the rates are at the lowest.

"We can send in antiseptics and painkillers for her cuts, but the healing lubricant costs-"

"Don't call it lubricant," Taye suddenly snaps, and the man speaking takes a small step back, his silver irises narrowing with confusion. "It's medication, not lubricant. She might die tonight and still all you think of is how she would look naked?"

Once again the group is silent, calculating and guilty. One, the spiteful golden haired one, smirks. He's one of the few among the group who can testify to that. Only two nights ago, while her district partner searched for her across the Capitol, he and Rosalie had made love under the skylights on the rooftop of his skyscraper.

She was a strange girl, acting like she ruled the world; getting enormously upset when she couldn't pretend any longer. In reality she was in control of nothing but the fragments of the people's minds. She did not own anyone. Her family was dead, and the people of District 4 began to despise her the day of her biggest mistake, and also the day she brought havoc by sea. A fleet of Capital ships went and set fire to her house and many others.

No one knew about it except for him. She talked in her sleep. And in one night he had heard enough to know that she sat on a false throne with false supporters. She had no friends, and all the men in the world wanted her for the very thing he had received. They did not love her nor care for her. He did not love her or care for her. He had gotten what he had dreamed of, and since the possibility of getting more was impossible, she was no longer anything to him.

She would not be coming out of the arena this time. He didn't even know why he was sponsoring her. It would be a better investment to spend his money on Katniss Everdeen or Johanna Mason. Perhaps he would transfer as soon as Rosalie was dead.

The others are oblivious to his thoughts. They talk among themselves softly while Taye Helistin, the president's successor and nephew, watch them with proud, angry eyes.

"_It's alright. It's alright Taye. Buy the medicine for Cato and just forget about me if you can't afford both." _

They all hear the voice in their headsets and laugh a bit sheepishly. To put another district's tribute above their own? It was unheard of. Taye hated Cato anyways.

"Go send your parachutes; I'll pay for her medication." Taye snarls in disgust at their perverted expressions, his dark eyes exotic and worried. He storms into the mentor room. Brutus glares at him expectantly when he enters, and gestures at the central screen, which focuses on the main scenes of action, if any. The District 2 tribute, Cato Greene, lays on his back, blood running down his sides. The knife is cast to one side and his lips are losing their color. He looks like he is in tremendous pain, and his body tenses tightly and then shudders into relaxation in unison to his slowed and labored breathing.

"He's had worse wounds, Brutus. She's never had any. And she's my ultimate priority. I won't be sending medication for your tribute; it's expensive and useless. He's punctured a lung and the blood loss is nearly irreversible." There was another thing. Cato had taken advantage of Rose and...

He falls silent with anger. Then he stalks past Effie and her sad, made up eyes, back into the sponsor room. The clock was ticking. The eighth sect would decompose itself in less than six hours.

**…**

**Katniss Everdeen**

It's ironic, it's the drying spots of blood and disturbances in the dust and mold that lead me to the Careers. I had studied the patterns made by wounded animals fleeing, and this track is no different. There are soft indentations, barely there but still distinguishable, in the layer of crumbling things, and I follow these footprints.

Everything really is dead. Unknown creatures melt into the ground, faces webbing away to show the black flesh underneath. The last leaves on the brittle branches crumble upon touch, and I leave in my wake a perfect tunnel of dust. The silence has fallen into the chasms of my mind, and I no longer painfully notice it, but indulge in the calm it brings. I feel as if I own the world, as if nothing is impossible.

It's by mistake that my ankle finally gives way and I stumble through the wall of vines.

Then they are before me. The Careers. My frantic eyes are only searching for one, although I immediately notice that all four are laying on the ground, seemingly asleep. They have the embers of a fire and very much food and water.

He is closer to me than they are. His body is stained with deep red, and his face is gaunt but beautiful even in this state of annihilation...lips blue with cold and cheeks defined and sharp. Is this what Rosalie meant by "_a wound_"? This is not a wound. This is death.

I find the strength to stand, and walk forward and collapse by him. He does not move, and even at a closer range I cannot detect the rise or fall of his chest. I place my head down over his heart, and hear a low, hauntingly slow beat. Only centimeters away is the mutilated flesh that is his wound. It seems very deep, the cut, and being so close to his heart, I can only guess that some organ or another has been destroyed. I want to help, but my expertise-if in other times, I would laugh at my use of the word-is limited, and this would be a challenge for even the Capitol's greatest surgeons. Where is the medication Rosalie promised? It's already late, and the edges of the gash are starting to swell with cold. He's unconscious, and his fists lay clenched and frozen at his sides. He must be so incredibly cold, and I can only imagine what he endured before being reduced to this state. At this moment, I wish I had killed Rosalie Darling. I wish I had known the extent of her doings and had damaged her beyond repair. The Capitol does not approve of amputations or excessive maiming, that is why they tend to neglect Johanna Mason; but I would gladly rip her to pieces and scatter her remains.

"Bandages and medication," I direct upwards. I have inferred that the other Careers are not asleep, but drugged or unconscious. It is impossible that they would be unaware of what has been done, and the possibility of one small, female tribute escaping their seasoned hands is nonexistent.

There is a delay of several minutes, during which I carefully peck him on the lips and begin to undress him. I use my knife and cut away the remains of his uniform, mindful to only peel the tight fabric down to his hips. I wonder what he would do if he was awake.

_Katniss, usually the male is the initiator. _Or perhaps he would say, _How tempting, Katniss._

I feel like he wouldn't speak at all really, just send me a knowing, provocative smile. And then...and then I cannot guess any more. I don't know him well enough too.

His body is usually tan, but now it is very pale and cold to the touch. Of course the litheness in his muscles and agile structure of his bones is still there, only more evident against the dark, ominous wound. I'm afraid that he will freeze, so I take the sleeping bag from my backpack and drape it over his naked frame and sit back and watch the shadows dance about his fine features as the wind buffets the trees.

Several parachutes come at once, each large and bulky. All of them are printed _2_ on the white silk clouds drifting them to the earth. I begin to lose hope in all chance of the promised medication arriving, clearly Rosalie was only saving herself by agreeing to my terms earlier, although I had truly expected her to come through. Where was the philanthropic side of her now? It's most likely that her own medication and ointments were already depriving enough to the wallets of her sponsors.

The first parachute is a large woolen blanket. The next is a bottle of water and several loaves of bread-which I don't quite understand at first. There is an entire basket of food to the left of the fire...but perhaps that is how Rosalie drugged them all. I wonder if she stabbed Cato before or after drugging him, and if he had been fooled by her at all. I feel like he saw through the entire scheme. But then, why would he be injured so badly?

I sorely hope that the last cartridge has at least some type of salve or at least a cleaning solution. It contains both, and a roll of heavy gauze. There is a note in this one- _Damn you._

"Damn you too," I snap at the sky. Probably one of the wealthy Capitol women that Cato won back. I move the sleeping back off of him and even though he is unaware, his skin prickles up in goose bumps with the sudden cold. I look around, and take the checkered handkerchief from inside the drugged food basket and use that to wipe away the blood from around the wound using the cleaning antiseptic. It really is worse than anything I have seen, I find the knife a foot away, eight jagged inches. With a painful jolt, I realize that it is familiar. It's the knife that Clove let me borrow last year for protection while she and Cato were out hunting for the District 3 boy. I drop it and blink away the memories, I can't be distracted.

I lift him only enough to quickly loop the gauze around his back and over the wound several times after applying the salve. It is most definitely not high tech and will do little more than prevent infection...the true damage is internal, and I can only fathom how much he is bleeding on the inside. This is a fatal wound, and I'm an amateur. Without Rosalie's promised medication, he will die. There is no chance of him lasting it out until he can get proper treatment-only a day has passed!-and more than half the tributes are still alive and well.

When I am done he is still barely breathing and he has not moved once. With great difficulty, I force his long, cold fingers to unclench- the nails have made deep crescents in his palms. I think about trickling water into his mouth, but it might obstruct his breathing or something else might go wrong.

I can do nothing more. And there's only a matter of time before he either dies or the other Careers wake up. I feel tears building and wonder if this is perhaps the last time I will see him. No...I shouldn't think that way...how can I possibly win the Quarter Quell and help the rebellion if he remains alive?

I watch him for several long, silent moments. The sky is a bit lighter, and as if the sound is wrapped in several sheets of heavy velvet, cry of a far-off mockingjay somehow makes its way into this barren cocoon of death.

I'm so ridiculous; I should just kill all of those Careers now. But inside of me the same conscience that stopped me from shooting Rosalie tells me that it's too early for so many deaths. I could. I could, but I'll abstain for now. The image of Haymitch with a wide smile and a thumbs up flashes in my mind like a Capitol banner. _Haymitch approves!_ I imagine it would say.

I stand up, ready to leave. To stay would only be torture to me, especially if there's the possibility of the Careers finding me out. I could never stay so close to him and know that he is suffering anyways. It would be best to simply go.

I begin to walk away. But then, shrouded in the mist that now engulfs and mystifies the dead landscape, comes a final, small parachute. I receive it in my hands, as careful as if I were catching a falling dove. The silk finally billows down and falls over the cartridge. I turn my hands. There is the number _4_ printed on one side of the metal. Is this the medication? Could it be?

At first when I see the four clear syringes, I am convinced that Taye Helistin really did send in the expensive medication on behalf of his tribute. But I am quickly mistaken. A note flutters out and I must lunge to catch it before it blows away in the wind, and my ankle rips in two with enormous pain as I land on it hard.

I grit my teeth and read.

_Hello District 12 female, (Katniss)_

_This is sleeping syringe. Since we cannot afford medication for both the District 2 male (Cato) and Rosalie, this is all we can spare. Have your night with him. It might be your last. _(There is a scribble here that vaguely resembles a smiling face)

_-Taye Helistin _

I want to rip the note in pieces, and I do, angrily. Of course they can afford both! Taye Helistin is one of the wealthiest individuals in Panem, and Rosalie's estates are worth a gold mine. I bet that it's merely spite that stopped Taye from buying the medication. And then there's the way he referred to us, as if our names were not Katniss and Cato, but _District 12 female_ and _District 2 male_.

"Who does he think he is?" I mutter to myself. Still, I quickly inject the serums into each of the Career's arms. I wonder why he gave me a fourth one, unless he expects me to put Cato into a deeper sleep. No, that's too dangerous. "Damn...damn damn damn. What am I going to do?" I whisper. This is completely out of control, and Cato is virtually beyond saving without the proper treatment he needs.

All of a sudden another parachute comes gliding down. It is another District _4 _one. Inside is nothing but another note.

_I am your, well not _your_, because you'll be dead by then... future President, Katniss. And I suggest you solve your conflict with Rosalie and take her as ally. Perhaps then..._ (Another smiling scribble)

_The subject of concern has punctured a lung, he can live for exactly 36 hours in the state he's in now, but you should get out of that place before sunrise. Good luck tick tock! _

_-Taye _

I understand exactly why Rosalie loves this man, this heir to Snow's baneful throne. He is much more manipulative and cunning than I had expected, and he has the most particular sense of humour. I rip this note up as well. Cato has thirty six hours, am I'm so exhausted and cold...I can barely think. Tick tock. I suppose that was only to remind me that the time is running out. And why sunrise? I suddenly wish that I hadn't ripped the note. Was there some sort of hidden meaning in his message?

I hesitate for a moment, with one hand on Cato's arm. Then, careful not to jostle him, I climb into the sleeping bag with him and drape the wool blanket over us all. He's still cold and his body seems tight and tense, as if unable to relax.

I press myself as close as I can to him, until my chest is against his arm and my lips are a millimeter away from his cheek. He smells like that familiar cologne. And something else, another type of expensive perfume, heavy and light at the same time. I don't have time to ponder. The warmth slowly spreads and I fall asleep next to him, feeling his open skin against my hands and the heat of illness pulse from his chest. I don't care, I decide. I don't care if the world has to come down to keep him alive, it would be worth it.

* * *

_I'm tired of getting pessimistic, negative reviews. They are very disheartening and hurtful to read, as the author who has put countless hours upon hours into this project. Let me remind you all that this is a fanfiction. I have written this to make myself happy, not to please anyone else. If you don't like this story, leave. I don't want to hear your complaints or hate, and they certainly will not influence my writing. My goal in this fanfiction was to improve my writing, not to be shot down by people who hate my stories or characters. I am always open to constructive criticism or suggestions, but when you tell me that one of my characters should die immediately, it really does hurt. _

_On the other hand, I just read through Formidable and the previous chapters of Insurgence. I made Cato seem like a brat, and I'm proud that I've come so far from then. It's been close to a year, I think. I'm sure that you're all glad that I'm not using the words "smirk" and "snicker" every other sentence, eh? It's funny, I had completely forgotten the plot of Formidable, and I literally had to force my way through the chapters because the writing was so bad. And in regards to chapter length, yes, this is ten thousand words and three times the length of the last chapter. I only update once a month or so now because I've gotten so busy with my first year of highschool. _

_Thank you for reading, and I hope that you'll leave me a review telling me what you think! _


	8. Round and Around

**CHAPTER 7: ROUND AND AROUND**

All along it was a fever  
A cold sweat hot-headed believer  
I threw my hands in the air and said, _"Show me something,"_  
He said, "_If you dare come a little closer."_

Round and around and around and around we go  
Oh now tell me now tell me now tell me now you know

Not really sure how to feel about it.  
Something in the way you move  
Makes me feel like I can't live without you.  
It takes me all the way...

...

**Rosalie Darling, District 4. Sect 8.**

I watch the parachutes balloon to the ground like dancers falling down into indigo darkness. They are beautiful and eerie and glint with unearthly light among the black of the dying trees. It's so dark here. It's so dark and cold and painful. A stake seems to be piercing and pounding into my ribs, and the sensation of having the cold knife taken from it lingers and burns new pain. The arrow through my shoulder is pushing a mess of flesh out from my body and onto the ground, and I dig my fingers into it and cry out as the torrent of blood comes gushing out and the shredded muscle finally gives way and separates from my shoulder.

"How foolish," I choke at myself. The tears are welcome, spilling and warm and blurring the world in a familiar sort of way. "Katniss Everdeen has nothing to lose."

She has nothing to lose, because she has already lost. She does not care how many she hurts to get to Cato and ensure that he is safe and cared for. She loves him. Love never dies, they say. Yet with each silver clink of the falling parachutes landing in graceful succession, I cannot believe it for a moment.

"Love will always die," I say out loud, and hearing the rasp of my own voice brings me to tears again. One parachute falls with a light clunk on my stomach and I lift one hand slowly to finger the catch on the metal container. With great difficulty, I am able to lift the catch, although I must desperately grab at the note inside with my numb fingers before the wind carries it away.

It's so dark now that I can't see a word written on the paper, even when I jerk it towards my face until it is only centimetres away. I can't get up and open any of the other parachutes either, and it's simply so cold, the wind is pressing in and all around there is sound of fabric whipping in the breeze.

There's nothing I can do, as always. _Rosalie Darling, oh she's so beautiful and clever. _What can beauty do for me now? There's not Finnick or Taye or Cato or _anybody _here with me. I'm alone, and no matter how clever I may be, the horrible burning sensation is still engulfing my body. A song I heard long ago comes haunting the halls of my mind, the melody lost within the folds of a thousand pressing memories. Even as they pass through my dry lips and take form in hoarse murmurs, I know that the words are in all the wrong places. But it does not matter, because they tell my story and have traveled through the wounds and cuts made by a thousand different men.

_There was a time when men were kind_

_When their voices were soft_

_And their words inviting_

_There was a time when love was blind_

_When hope was high_

_And life worth living_

_I dreamed that love would never die..._

_But the tigers come at night_

_With their voices soft as thunder_

_As they tear your hope apart_

_As they turn your dream to shame._

The pain tonight is not new. I have felt it wrench my heart so many times whenever a man whose name I do not know can look at me with lust-filled eyes and not love me at all although he ravages my body. Then whenever I look at Finnick afterwards when he comes to pick me up, his eyes glittering with hidden diamonds of concern.

"_Are you alright?"_ He would say.

"_No."_

Then instead of asking, Why? like Taye would, he would simply let me place my head upon his shoulder, and stroke my arm until I was calm again. He is the only one who has ever loved me for more than what I look like. Even when I am sobbing like a small, demented child, he does not draw back with excuses like the others have, but takes me into his strong arms. When I want to eat cake or puddings, he does not scoff or look pointedly at my thin arms, but lets me gorge myself sufficiently. Then he patiently calls an Avox to take care of me when I complain of a stomachache.

It's not a game or some kind of trophy for him to be with me, and he does not want sex every other night and a kiss each time he speaks to me, as the others do. Carrus and Albanon and Cedric and Aradrene and...there are too many to remember. Those who spark my interest, and those who I tire of quickly. I do not enjoy wearing short skirts that rub against my hips. I do not enjoy having the breeze play through the low collar of my shirts. I do not enjoy being swarmed by cameras and inquiries, nor do I enjoy constantly having to be rescued from dark alleyways by my bodyguards.

The note in my fingers flutters away now, and I hear it being carried away in the incredible silence.

I can no longer feel any part of my body, and I vaguely wonder if Cato felt this way after I hurt him so badly. Did he feel as if he were dying and being stabbed over and over again? It's a curious thing, pain is. It brings memories and thoughts that I have hidden for years. I think of love and injustice, but what do others dream of in their moments of dying and hurt? Cato does not truly love Katniss, does he think of her? He speaks differently and casts shadowed glances all around when he is with her, and the way he dares not act the way he is while in her presence...

"I don't want to die," I say out loud. Only minutes have passed yet it feels like hours. I can feel nothing, and only my thoughts remain alive.

_It's all my fault. It's all my fault. I hate myself. I hate myself. _

There are not enough stars in the sky.

...

**Katniss Everdeen, District 12. Sect 8.**

When I wake it's not yet dawn. There is a film of dust upon my skin, and the jungle is lit in a calm, unearthly light. The sleeping bag is cold and rough against my legs, and when I move them they push against Cato's lean ones. I turn over and feel his body against mine, hard and strong and cold. His lips are dry and blue with cold. I let my eyes flick over his features once before closing them again to think. Yesterday's events are flashing through my mind like a whirlwind, and I although I've destroyed both of Taye's notes, I can remember exactly what they said.

I prop myself up on one arm and remove the other from underneath his. Another torrent of dust falls and I am reminded of snow as it whisks downwards and silently sprinkles both of us with white. Cato is still frozen in his state of borrowed time, his eyes are closed and shoulders exposed and strangely fragile. Now that I've moved a bit I can feel that the edge of his uniform has ridden down precariously low past his hips, and I gently reach under and pull it upwards, my hand brushing his flat stomach.

Then I am suddenly not calm, but frantic. My thoughts are every which way and my shoulders begin to shake. I don't know what to do, I don't know how to save Cato or how I can make him realize that I...

My mind flicks away quickly.

I have to find Rosalie and befriend her in order to receive the medication for Cato, yet supposedly something ominous will happen at sunrise. Why else would Taye warn me to get out of this place by then? I have maybe six hours...I can't possibly bring Cato with me to find Rosalie, but if I leave him what will happen? Enobaria and the others might wake up too late to administer the medication and I won't be able to hurry back or save him before sunrise.

I have a desperate, fleeting idea.

"If you don't send Cato's medication in now, Taye, I'll go kill Rosalie,"I call upwards with what I hope is malice.. I glance at the other Careers, still slumped over. Good, they're not awake yet.

A minute passes. I sigh and put my chin on Cato's shoulder, breathing in his scent and wishing this was all a dream and I was home with Prim and my mother. Another half a minute passes and I decide that waiting for this lying jackass' parachute to come flying in is useless. I rise slowly and fix my bow across my shoulders, the landscape is dull and grey and entire clouds of dust rise and fall with the wind.

"Well you've given me no choice." I start forward purposefully and am stopped by the wind that buffets against my back with incredible force. With it comes a dark, ominous creaking from the dead trees as they bend to accommodate the breeze. Then it is silent again as the wind dies down. It is then that the package sails into the clearing, the parachute is not white, but a dirty, almost unholy black.

I take it with caution but then the anxiousness overtakes me and my gentle hands turn into claws scrambling to open the cartridge. The note tumbles out as soon as the two halves click open, and I snatch it up and read it as quickly as possible. But I have to reread it to understand, because the idea it proposes is so bizarre to me.

_I don't like you very much, Katniss. Not at all really. _

_Go on, give your boyfriend the medicine, but if you neglect to keep your side of the bargain both of you will pay. There's a pain-inducing drug mixed into the syringe, directly corresponding to Rosalie's sensor. You'll see. _

_You do realize that he won't stop bleeding internally until treated by a medic. I suppose it doesn't matter much, since they won't be accessible to him unless he's the victor. _

I don't quite understand what he means, but somehow I know that while liberating me of this anxiousness, Taye has also tied Rosalie and Cato together in some way so that I have no choice but to carry out my promise and go to her. Damn, he might even be as clever as Snow, and from what I have seen, that isn't much of a good thing.

The last part makes me angry. I've been pushing back the fact that it is highly unlikely that Cato will come out of the arena this year, well...not really actually. But...oh no. Did I really promise myself that I would do whatever it took to win? Then what is the purpose of helping anyone? If I plan to leave him behind dead anyways?

What...

I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I'm ignoring Haymitch's advice and contradicting myself! I look down at Cato, very confused. He looks so serene and calm, although I miss his eyes.

I sigh again and turn back to the situation at hand. In the cartridge there is the syringe that Taye mentioned, a thick sort of salve, a bag of what seems like blood, and a jar of sloshy, clear liquid. None of them have labels, and I eye the sloshy stuff suspiciously as I pull back the sleeping bag and begin to undo Cato's bandages.

I work as quickly as possible, the warning from last night is still fresh in my mind and I have maybe...three hours until sunrise? The sky is already beginning to grow light as dawn approaches. I pour water from yesterday over the wound in an attempt to maybe drown all the germs...I laugh a little at this silly thought, but the sound quickly dies in my throat as I realize how much he's bled out. It's too much, and I suppose the bag of blood is a replacement. After I wipe up as much as I dare to without dabbling into the wound itself, I decide to maybe pour the clear liquid over the cut, since it smells strongly like an antibiotic. When I do, it seeps into the wound and I imagine that if he were awake it would hurt badly. Finally I slather the salve over his chest and rebandage.

The syringe is still there, and with hesitation, I decide that if Taye truly is as clever as I am thinking, he would put the so-called "pain-inducing" drug in a crucial part of the package. I have a feeling that the medicine is not in the salve, but rather in the miniscule contents of this small glass vial.

Yet, it seems like I've sealed a death contract when I push the needle into his skin.

...

**Rosalie Darling, District 4. Sect 8.**

They come as dawn lights up my small clearing and the white packages littered across the ground.

Cato does not look well, although he stands alone and walks as if nothing is hurting him, although even from the ground, ten metres away, I can tell that he is in great pain. When he sees me there on the ground, in worse condition than himself, his eyes grow sharp and surprised. Katniss, of course, has a slight scowl pulling the corners of her mouth downwards. She is fine, clearly her ankle is not bothering her, and as if trying to gloat, she reaches for Cato's hand as they draw closer.

I smile when he pulls away, giving her a raised eyebrow, but the smile is short-lived. The fluctuating trills of needle-like pain return to my shoulder, then to my side, then up to my neck. Cato's shoulders tense in unison with my own, which is coincidental and a bit strange. He then puts a hand up to his left shoulder, as mine throbs terribly.

"You alright?" Katniss asks him, I can hear them now. "Rest while I clean her up." She says this last part with contempt, as if I were a disgusting hag needing a bath.

I want to speak out and argue, but my throat is so dry that I can barely breathe without rasping, let alone make a sound.

"No, there's not enough time. I'll help her while you pack her..." he looks at the meadow of flapping cloth and cartridges, then at the various animal carcasses littering among it, "_gifts _up." He smiles a little, as if he finds the term funny. He then carefully, slowly, makes his way towards me, while Katniss looks on sourly.

Finally, seeing that he won't change his mind, she kneels down on the ground. "Fine," she snaps, wrenching open the nearest parachute. There's a bottle of water inside, and I want to ask her to let me have it, but I keep my mouth shut and watch her stuff it into the spare backpack she has. She's angry, presumably at me, but also at Cato. I think she expects him to lavish her with affection when he clearly isn't that way. It would not matter if he were the most loving man in the world, either, for he doesn't love her at all. Does she truly believe that he cares deeply for her when she is not in the least enjoyable to be around? She scowls at everyone and gives such curt answers that even I feel as if she is trying to scare me off when she speaks to me.

"Hello Rosalie, you look well." A voice to my right draws my attention away from Katniss, and I meet Cato's steady gaze as he moves his eyes over my injuries. His shoulder twitches above me as they land on the arrow still lodged firmly through my flesh.

"That's not funny," I say, but it's so croaky that it sounds more like, "Tash nawt fun...ni." I look a mess and feel like I'm dying as we speak. More than anything I want warmth, my hands are so rigid that I can barely move my fingers. He shouldn't be talking, anyways, his face is pale and as he leans over me to fumble open a cartridge, which I assume must contain my medicine, I can see that the bandage that's been fixed over his wound is completely soaked through with blood. I suppose that's why the top half of his uniform has been cut away. I suddenly feel terribly guilty.

As he uses a knife to slice open the side of my uniform, I reach for the water bottle strapped to his backpack and take hungry sips. He chuckles and carefully begins to clean the cut at my ribs. When he rubs in the thick ointment, there is a burning sensation, then a cool wave of relief. I close my eyes while he continues and almost hear him sigh in reprieve as well.

"Katniss did this?" He says, tugging the arrow out of my shoulder. The sky is dangerously light now, and I am so unprepared that I scream when he extracts it. Katniss looks over and mutters loudly, "Drama queen."

I ignore her. "Well...who else has arrows, Cato?"

"I suppose you don't know real pain until you take an arrow to the knee...well, shoulder," he replies, straightfaced. It's an ancient line from ancient times, I only recognize it because Finnick went through a phase where he would make completely nonsensical jokes about every little thing.

"Or a knife to the chest, eh? You should get Katniss to look at that, afterwards maybe you can paint a nice picture with your blood, or we could all use it as war paint," I suggest.

He laughs and looks at me in a way that makes me feel guilty. I'm not even trying to flirt and he's starting to soften his gaze. He finishes and helps me stand on shaky feet.

"C'mon Katniss, it's nearly sunrise," Cato says to her. "We should go."

"Yes," she replies, and as if gloating, she quickly kisses Cato on the lips defiantly before taking my arm firmly and pulling me along. I can barely keep up with her hurried strides and the situation is feeling very similar to that of yesterday, when I was dragged along by that length of rope like an animal.

"Stop, you're hurting her," Cato suddenly says, and Katniss drops my arm, glaring at him. I feel so useless and unwanted. My very presence has made the scene awkward and choppy, and I want to disappear. I want to disappear so badly. I want to go home and drown beneath a legion of water, never to hear or be heard from, never to hurt or be hurt, never to taste the mouths of others and regret it.

I feel myself being pulled out of Katniss' grasp and then I am alone, unsteady and wobbling, while Cato gives me an apprehensive glance as he puts an arm around her shoulders and they begin to walk off. He doesn't love her, yet he continues to play the part. How funny. How like me. I tilt my head and walk slowly along, stabs of pain pronounced at every step. He has sharp shoulders, defined and suntanned even in this dusty, filmy gloom. His hair is the color of gold and his eyes the color of azure. Yes, he could...he could certainly be used to the President's profit. I'd be surprised if he hasn't already used his physique to his advantage. Johanna was actually spreading rumors that he had slept with quite a few Capitol sponsors. How clever...that's exactly what I had done. I laugh softly.

I am supposed to be leading the rebellion. It was I who purposely initiated it, after all. Yet Katniss Everdeen has cleverly assumed the role of motivator without as much as a word of suggestion from me. I doubt that even if I had suggested it, she would have acknowledged it. I hate to think that this role has been taken from me so easily when I have given time and blood to obtain it.

_Where were you, Rosalie? Are you alright, Rosalie? You can tell me, love. Go on dear, tell me, you'll be alright._

No, I won't be alright. What _is _alright? Attending luncheons where I can barely eat a damn slice of dessert without vomiting? Letting men run their fingers unknowingly over the places where scars lie dormant underneath a layer of smooth skin? Knowing that the man I used to regard as father destroy the lives of many in order to take mine? I'm not alright. I never will be _alright._

I reach out and stumble over a pile of bones and grab hold of Katniss' arm.

"I'm really really really sorry Katniss." I pause, and seeing that she is not shaking me off, I add, "Can you be my friend?" I've always wanted a friend. There's Annie, of course, but she's like a sister to me. Men cannot be friends either, so I don't say anything to Cato. And all those Capitol darlings who say they are my friends, who laugh and shop with me...well they all truly hate me, don't they? Behind those violet, scarlet, emerald eyes, they detest me and all that I have. It's a bit like the older girls at school who used to throw rocks at my father and my shack because Finnick Odair would sometimes visit and walk with me on the beach. He used to live there. On the beach, I mean, in a shack just like I did. One room, no fire, with only the sound of the ocean to keep him company while his mother sold herself for money out in the dark recesses of town. She's dead now, she died the moment he killed the last tribute, which was rather unfortunate. A bit funny, really. No..nevermind. Not funny.

"You can't just ask me to be your-"

_Creak. _

Her incredulous voice is drowned by the sudden crack above our heads, as a tree sways ominously with the first rays of sunlight streaming through it's gray, rotten branches. With another enormous terrifying crack, it suspends above us in warning before falling. The trunk misses me by inches, and Katniss cries out as several large branches slam down, one sweeping under her legs and making her fall onto her knees. All around a sudden cacophony of screeches, cracks, great groans and the horrible sound of wind as it scrapes against the dead jungle. The ground beneath us suddenly feels as if it is melting, and when I look downwards it indeed is, turning from black spongy material to a sticky, globular slush that releases a foul odor only dwarfed by that of spoiled meat.

"It's begun," Cato says softly near my ear, before seizing me up from the ground and then grabbing Katniss and running. How he can run, I don't know. I can barely breathe as I hold his shoulder tightly. The sky is so full of ash and dust and tiny particles of broken down flesh that as we crash through the black looming structures, I am virtually blinded by a the flurries, and when I try to open my mouth to yell for him to watch out for the bat flying towards us, my mouth is immediately filled with mortifying particles of death.

Katniss is on the ground again now, running alongside him and batting the largest of the falling branches and bodies away with her bow. Cato has shifted positions so that I am barely able to stay on. Without meaning to, I blindly claw at his skin and dig my nails into it as I feel several splinters lodge into my shoulders and ribs where there is not even the thin layer of uniform. The sound is deafening now, roaring like a thousand tigers in our ears, filling us with fear and desperation.

"Speak for yourself!" Someone shouts. I think that it's Cato. Did I speak aloud? I couldn't have, I can't open my mouth at all, the shards of wood and gravel cut into my tongue and I taste blood. I may just be imagining things in this pandemonium. I'm afraid to open my eyes, afraid to witness the living nightmare this place has become.

**Sect 7.**

All at once, abruptly, it stops. The absence of sound is almost as raw as sound itself, and as I am placed down and I hear coughing above me, the lingering feeling of showering stones still remains.

Then Cato and Katniss are both on the ground as well, coughing and as blind as I am. We pant there for a while, clawing the sand from our eyes and spitting blood and gravel from our ruined mouths. Someone hands a bottle of water to me and I immensely hope that it was Katniss, just to know that she doesn't hate me as much as she seems to.

I am finally able to open my eyes and see again. We have not fared well, a scarlet river of blood streams from Cato's reopened (well I suppose it wasn't ever closed) wound, and he's holding his head with abandon as if he has a horrible headache. Katniss, being the only one fully clothed, is picking shards of wood out of her arms and legs. There is a gash across one eyebrow.

"Fun," I say shortly, sarcastically.

"Hahah," Cato mutters softly. "Happy Hunger Games."

"And may the odds be ever in your favor. How stupendous, as if we are all tokens at a casino game rather than people." I scoff. Katniss watches us with her silent owl eyes, narrowed and cautious as she observes our exchange. She always looks like that, with a bit of a disapproving slope to her mouth, ready to say something biting and sarcastic.

"Stop flirting, _Rosalie_. You're always so goddamn full of yourself," she whispers angrily, but our hearing has been rendered so sharp by this sudden change of atmosphere that both Cato and I understand exactly what she says.

I don't reply. I actually _am_ rather full of myself, everyone tells me so. It doesn't bother me that she reaffirms it, I am well aware that I appear obnoxious and overrated to many females who meet me. They think me an idol until they hear my _ridiculous_ voice or see how hard I try to appear beautiful, with my _pompous_ jewels and dresses in person, where I might snag their male counterparts.

I don't _snag_ anyone. I may touch, but I do not feel. I often like, but I rarely love. Do they not understand that it is all a part of being a Capitol plaything? I advertise their shampoos and jewels, their fur coats and lingerie. I attend parties and pose for their pictures. Everything I do is for the Capitol. For Snow. When I give free-earned tesserae to the children of the beach, when I don chocolate bars and milk for special occasions, I am seen to be part of the Capitol, a false cover of charity over a city of lies. Don't take those, the children's mothers tell them, as if they've forgotten that only five years ago I was one of them.

"I'm not," I say wearily. Now the weight of the Hunger Games and of what I have done to these innocent people crashes down on me and pins me to the ground, stealing my breath and replacing my blood with daggers that course through my veins. "A friend wouldn't do that."

_Don't cry. _

"Don't cry." Katniss voices my unspoken thought coldly. She shrugs off the extra backpack and throws it at me hard. "You're no friend of mine."

I look at her, her pretty(ish) face scowling in a way so convinced that I will take the boy she loves from her. She hates me with all her heart, she does, and to know that and feel it through the anger in her voice and the pain inflicted by her hand is worse than anything I had prepared for. I'm ready to die, to kill and be killed. But I cannot imagine anything worse than death other than the feeling of being hated.

Cato has lifted his head and speaks sharply to Katniss, as I sit there hugging my knees. "Lay off her, she doesn't need to be hurt more than she has been by you."

_Don't cry. Don't flirt. Don't rebel. Don't move whwhile I hit you. Be silent while I hurt you. Listen to me! Look at me! Look at what you have done, Rosalie, look at this suffering and pain. Look at this blood, look at your blood. It's all your fault. _

The tears come like a gentle rainstorm.

…

**Finnick Odair, District 4. Cornucopia.**

The fish flick across the shallow recesses like quicksilver, unpredictable and strange. They are intriguing and gruesome all at once, with their flashing scales and jaggerlike teeth. I halfheartedly stab at one with a spear and watch it flicker away when I miss. It's still morning, and I imagine that more will come along when it is warmer, they must be accustomed to this tropical atmosphere. Perhaps Johanna and I could have something decent to go with our bread. We have an entire basket. I don't know what Taye is thinking, sending in so much when the Games have barely begun. Sponsors tire of bread and water and often yearn to send in luxuries for their tributes to admire and fiddle with. Five years ago, as Rosalie's mentor, I witnessed this phenomenon like never before. Taye Helistin himself consistently paid for bread three days. The fourth day he sent cake, the fifth, flowers, the sixth...a bracelet. The bracelet that she is wearing today as her token.

I look down at my own wrist and see Annie's roughly fashioned weave. She had made two, one with a fish pattern for me, and one with bits of shell for Rose. I hope she is alright. No one really is obligated to care for her anymore, and she must feel as if we have deserted her. In a way we have. I have. It was expected that Rose's name be called at the Reaping, and I was supposed to stay behind with Annie. Of course not though, of course I wouldn't.

"Hey Finn, alright there?" Johanna appears next me with her pants rolled up to her thighs and sits down on the white beach next to me. She begins to thrash her feet like a small child and I smile at the simple act. We are in the circle of sand where the apexes of the twelve sects of jungle meet. Johanna, being rational while I panicked, suggested we stay here rather than go searching through so called "nasty creeper forests" for the missing member of our small alliance.

"Just thinking," I answer softly, and seeing that she has already lost attention to me and is gleefully kicking her feet, I sit down as well with my arms on my knees and look out into the dark forest horizon. "There was a cannon just now, do you think it was Rosalie?"

She snorts and stops splashing to purposely aim several kicks at the fish, who are now darting forwards to bite her legs.

"Probably. If she hasn't already been killed by the worse...Cato and Gloss both fancy her very much, I wouldn't be surprised if they don't take this opportunity with gusto and-" she falls into the water face first with an enormous splash. I don't regret pushing her in. I coldly stand up and walk back towards the Cornucopia, where our supplies and sleeping bags are, casting down the spear on the unholy white. She knows better, Johanna Mason knows better than to speak of her as if she were something to be obtained and collected. A piece in their Games. Mindgames, lovegames, I have tired of these games.

I hear her crashing through the water ungracefully, thin and agile as she may be, she is no siren nor mermaid. Gasping breaths. Feet pounding across hot sand. An outburst as she burns them..

"That's not what I meant! Sorry! I'm sorry, okay?"

I busy myself. Unzip. Rope. Tie a knot and untie. Laugh. It's a bitter laugh, and I turn suddenly just as Johanna is giving me a nervous glance. My hands are suddenly automatic, the lengths of my fingers clenching against the rope.

"Do you not understand, Johanna? You jest, you laugh, but do you not know that the reason I am a tribute in this blasphemed Games is because I want to protect her? Do you-" I pause, my voice is quivering down at that familiar purr, quivering in my throat. Then I am shouting, shouting like a cursed man. "She wants to die in here! She's not coming out, don't you understand? All I want is to be with her when she goes, that's all I want!"

She watches me with wide, black eyes and a wild shock of hair, suddenly austere and serious. Then, as if sensing that I want to be left alone, she bends down, picks up the length of rope I had dropped, and places it gently into my hands before leaving the shadowed cave of gold. The cold darkness left behind gouges the sense of hopelessness further into my knotted heart. I regret ever taking that assignment two nights ago. Was I so desperate for resources? The vault of gold means nothing now. It will be used for the rebellion, I have already bought the weapons and they are to be shipped tonight. Weapons. Ha. I traded weapons for trust. Both will cause pain. The last word I have spoken to Rosalie was that lust-filled, confounded word. Her name, spoken while sleeping with a foreign woman. I wonder if she hates me now, when I have denied her what she asks me most for while giving it to others. She must hate me.

_I don't want to hurt you, _I had said, then I would try to take her mind off of it with a laugh or a kiss. I don't want to hurt her, yet I have, in a different way...I have hurt her terribly. I may never see her again, and the last time I have spoken to her was two nights ago.

If she is dead now...if that cannon marked the end of her life, I will regret this mistake for all of eternity.

I have planted another ember, of course. Katniss will do well with the rebellion. She is bold and strong and will not falter when the time is right. I suppose the flowers I sent did not convey my message correctly nor build enough of a relationship between us to allow for an alliance. Katniss Everdeen would certainly be an audacious ally. She must be somewhere in the forest now, clever as she is, I hope she is not alone. It would be such a blow after staying almost all of last year's Games in the company of two fine fighters.

A scream pierces the air. I shake my head slightly and pull the knots apart on my rope, watching the loops smoothly slide from within each other and conform into a straight line once again.

"An update would be excellent," I muse, although my hands are dying to kill and move, I watch them twist the rope into shapes with almost feverish scrutiny. If I go now, I won't ever come back to this place, I know it. It's better to understand the situation before actly rashly. I smile wistfully into the camera they have hidden in the roof of the Cornucopia-Johanna found it the first day- and then open my mouth in a silent, infatuating gesture, dropping my eyelids and smirking as if I know the answers to all the mysteries in the world.

I hate how I have to do this for a simple piece of parchment to be sent in. Rosalie tells me that Taye never needs to look into the cameras as if he were half asleep and barely in control of himself. That's how I appear often, on those billboards and magazines. I hate it. I can only imagine what those Capitol women are doing with the image of my body in the privacy of their frilly bedrooms. Taye Helistin never needs to look into cameras like that, and yet he is beloved as much as I am. He's the future President, yes, but from what I have heard, which is a relative amount, he is rather charismatic. Truth be told, the first time I spoke to him in person, I thought he was stupid in the head, with the way he clung on to Rosalie as if she were all that was holding him together.

I rip open the package when it arrives, and find a paper bird inside. It is a Mockingjay, cleverly folded so that when I begin to ease the creases apart, my eyes fall upon several small messages hidden in between.

_She's fine. _

_With Katniss and Cato. _

_Vicious Careers, I see. With their moist lips and cold hips. _

I stare coldly at his handwriting. Then, I unfold the last corner and regard the center message with a type of bittersweet audacity. I find it hard to despise this man as I read. It says, in that obnoxiously elaborant scrawl of his- _I would tell you that she's thinking of me, but she isn't. She needs you. _Then, I am not clear as to if this is supposed to be humourous or infuriating- _Both of them have hurt her and she wants to make friends with them? I don't recall her being so forgiving?_

I laugh quietly, suddenly doubting my choice of an ember. Katniss Everdeen is catching fire, but not in the way I'd expect. It would be wise of her to change her disposition before it is too late and she is laying on the ground, drowning in her own blood. No one who has ever hurt her recalls Rosalie to be forgiving...they're all dead or gone.

* * *

_Okay. This was a difficult chapter. I'm really sorry that I couldn't put more of Katniss/Cato into it and instead kindof let Rosalie dominate...but I was just tired and way past my deadline. If I had truly been able to put Katniss/Cato into here, this would have been two months late. I'm sorry and hope you'll still stick with me. _

[Shorter chapters and more-often updates? (once every two weeks or so) OR This length and less often updates? (once a month)]

_And let me make it CLEAR that I do not hate Katniss in any way. On the contrary, Jennifer Lawrence is my all time favorite actress and role model-funny, beautiful and just an awesome girl. It's simply the way Suzanne Collins has portrayed Katniss Everdeen that has influenced this character I have in this story-standoffish, antisocial, stubborn and too strong to be truly delicate._

**Please leave a comment or review! All feedback is greatly, greatly appreciated****.**

And before you start ranting on how evil Rosalie or Cato is or how you're confused on Cato/Katniss' relationship..._simmer down_, next chapter will be better and their relationship will be clear soon. THEY WILL BE TOGETHER IN THE END. I just hate writing mushy stuff.


	9. Catching Fire

**CHAPTER 9: CATCHING FIRE**

Here we go again, I kinda want to be more than friends  
So take it easy on me, I'm afraid you're never satisfied  
Here we go again, we're sick like animals, we play pretend  
You're just a cannibal and I'm afraid I won't get out alive

...

**Katniss Everdeen, District 12. Sect 7.**

Lunch comes when the sky is high above our heads.

Cato slices the bread silently, eyes downcast and finally almost gentle. I've helped him clean up, and he now passes my slice to me with a sort of apologetic look, thanking me with his expression.

"Is that knife clean?" I mumble. He laughs, but gives me a small smirk afterwards to show that it is, while Rosalie feverishly stares at her bread.

Cato has been speaking to me like this all morning. Not with words. But with a little nod, a rare smile, the glances that tell me so much. I think that he's trying to make up for being so ungrateful and doting on Rosalie earlier. It was probably the heat of the moment that made him act like that, I hope it was, anyways. At least now he's being much better, now he barely looks at her.

Neither of us do, really. She sits off in her little corner with her backpack, moping or sulking I do not know, while Cato and I talk occasionally as we prepare for tonight's journey. The plan is that we drop her off with one of her many allies and then go on to find somewhere safe to recover from our wounds and decide on what to do next from there.

"It's so hot," I complain darkly, standing up and fanning myself with my bread. He sends me a strange look and I see the hint of a smile.

He begins eat like a bird, taking small distasteful nips, slowly and carefully as if he is not hungry at all. I don't see what could be wrong. Its perfectly good bread, with a soft center and a flaky, fresh crust. A year ago one loaf like this would light up my eyes, but instead of feeling as if this bread is a rare, valuable treat, it seems bland compared to the Capitol dishes I have recently indulged in.

As I think about it, I find myself beginning to eat more slowly, suddenly criticizing what had seemed fine only moments before. I can understand why Cato and Effie and even Haymitch are so picky with their food. Wine is always too old or too new and one time when a delicious gravy soup was a side dish for dinner, Effie actually had the Avox bring it back to the kitchen.

_"Wait, nonononono...no. The soup is fine!"_ I had called after him, hoping he would bring it back.

"What's wrong with your bread?" Cato suddenly asks me, and I realize that the very thought of the rich Capitol food has made me even hungrier.

"Nothing really, what's wrong with yours?" I reply conversationally. He looks down at what he is eating as if noticing it for the first time, then shrugs softly, expression neutral.

"Considering that it's from the same loaf as yours..._nothing really._" He pauses, "When I was little I would stuff rolls of it in my cheeks and get scolded for scaring my nurses." Cato's voice is suddenly more lively, and a familiar smirk comes rolling back.

I laugh out loud while racking my brain for something clever to say. _Cool._ No, he would hate it if I said that, its not interesting at all. Clove always could keep up with him, I wonder why I can't.

"Erm..." I attempt weakly.

He sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes. "God Katniss, you're supposed to say something funny back!" I don't care that he's making fun of me, it's just a relief to see the old Cato back. The one who would smirk like there was no tomorrow and laugh at the most peculiar things.

Rosalie mutters something, and I snatch up her words and triumphantly whip them back at Cato, feeling my eyes shine like diamonds as I speak, "Well I _would_ be scared if a child with cheeks two times the size of his head came lumbering past me."

He laughs loudly, and as he does I grudgingly give props to Rosalie, if anything, she's apparently very funny. I wish I was funny. It would be much easier to talk to everyone...and I feel like I would be much more likable. Most of Panem's favorite tributes are either beautiful or hilarious. Unfortunately I'm lacking in both areas.

"Impressive, Katniss. A bit delayed, yes, but not bad."

I make a mental note, apparently when I say or do something amusing, it elicits a rather excellent reaction from Cato. It makes sense, all his life he's associated with victors and the most elite of District 2. I've seen his friends, I've lived a dozen days with his closest companion. They make him laugh, they make him roll his eyes and retort sharply, even obnoxiously. Without even thinking, they do ridiculous things...I remember seeing a handsome boy of about eighteen joking with Cato during the Victory Tour, he had put grapes in his eyelids and was acting out various situations with his bulging purple eyes. It was quite honestly the highlight of the Tour.

There is an indignant cough behind us and I grab hold of a stone on the ground and throw it at Rosalie to quiet her. I'm being irrational and mean, I know, but this moment is too good to be interrupted. Instead there is the opposite effect, she gasps angrily and moments later I see the stone sailing back over my head. It hits Cato's leg as he leans backward to get something from his backpack. Unzipping the top, he says, "I forgive you for that, Katniss. For future reference, don't throw stones, they often break bones."

I've never heard the expression before. Either he made it up, or it's some old, old saying from the time of the ancient Americans.

"Be glad I didn't aim higher," I say under my breath, not really intending for him to hear. But of course he does, and he bolts up suddenly, hair sticking up in the back from the sudden movement. He has a scandalous expression curling his lips into a secret smile, and his eyes are wolfish and bright.

"Katniss, at times you're rather infatuating. Do you truly _want_ me in that way?" He's purring softly like a cat would.

"What!? No! I mean-" He is smiling innocently, but that seductive glint has taken a hold of his eyes and turned them a deeper shade of blue. "Um..." I almost choke on my bread as I shove it into my mouth. Then, as he waits expectantly, I pointedly gesture at my mouth, giving me time to think. What should I say? God!

"Say yes," Rosalie drawls from her corner, as if knowing exactly what I'm thinking. She sounds terribly bored, as if this type of exchange is an everyday occurrence for her.

"Well I suppose Katniss has never really been in such situation, Rosalie. Unlike you, she's rather-" I'm still furiously working my mouth, chewing. Suddenly his voice is too close, at my ear, and it drops down to a purr. "-exclusive as to who she lets into her pants. Whose cheeks are two times the size of their head now, Katniss?" It's a lilting, playing whisper and I realize as he speaks that I don't trust a word he says.

"Oh shut up, playboy."

In that moment I feel a surge of gratefulness to the girl in the corner of the clearing, because although she is not aware of it, she has voiced exactly what I had been hesitant to. Even she recognizes that he is only playing with me, charming one moment, distant and cold the next. I'm confused now, unsure of what he means by anything he does. Nothing makes sense with Cato Greene. A smile means that he may be angry, a smirk hides bitter words, sharp insults mask tender eyes.

"Alright. Sorry Katniss." He apologizes quietly and then leans back from me…and everything is so suddenly back to normal. The afternoon sun seems hotter than ever now, and I feel a snake of sweat bead and run down my neck with the silent tension. It's so hot in this section of the jungle, nothing at all like the coolness of the dead place we've left. My uniform sticks to my skin and I've already drained half my water bottle since this morning.

Cato takes a knife from his belt and polishes it with a cloth, then offhandedly throws it. He misses. I look up and his head is tilted curiously, apparently questioning himself as well. Then, as I watch him, he goes forward to retrieve the knife but suddenly goes stiff, his muscles tight under the skin of his back.

Then it is over, and he picks up his knife and is standing against the bloodred sun.

"Nuts and Volts… well, just Nuts since Volts is dead, you still want to take him as allies?" He must have been paying attention to me during training after all.

"Yes," I say, feeling like I need to defend them, I add, "He's very intelligent. And…I really want to find Haymitch too."

I'd almost forgotten about Haymitch, but now that I remember him, I hope that he's doing alright with Chaff and the others in his alliance. Right now, I need his advice more than anyone else's. In a way, he's been one of the only reasonable people I've met through the Hunger Games. Everyone else is either too lovesick or rich to care, or simply wrong in the head. At least Haymitch will listen and actually answer my questions. I have no idea how to work everything out, and I'm questioning whether I even want to win, and if I do, how I will help with the rebellion.

"I'm assuming that the latter is much less intelligent than the former," Cato smirks, and I scowl at him. Haymitch, despite his drunkenness, is always straightforward and rational. I decide to tell Cato this.

"Considering that Haymitch is probably ten times more rational and pleasant than _you _are, you're not exactly insulting anyone but yourself."

He frowns slightly, and the strands of his golden hair seem to distort in the heat of the arena as I squint. "If you're going to insult me, do it in a clever way, Katniss."

"How would I do that? Not everything I do has to be clever or amuse you, for that matter," I retort defiantly. What does he expect? Me to bow down at his feet and do a little dance for him to clap to? Spout enormous intelligent paragraphs professing the meaning of the world? God no.

"Of course not. But I could rather safely suggest that you do, because it's excruciatingly insipid to be around you sometimes."

_What? _I squint my eyes at him. "I like how you begin to use _excruciatingly _long words when you want to make a point. I barely understood a thing you just said."

"You think that I'm heartless and isolated, Katniss, when in actua-"

I jump up to my feet and grab his wrist furiously. The ground is so slippery with dampness that when I do, we both cascade forward down a small slope in the landscape, and land in a gully to the side of our elevated clearing. I tumble into a bush while Cato staggers directly into a bramble of thick thorns.

"Ow. Of course I would be the one to go straight into the thorns while you roll into bushes."

I hear him struggling to free himself, but unsuccessful, he stops moving and waits while I push myself out of the leafy plant. I go to him to help him up, but instead of taking hold of my hands when I offer them, he sweeps my feet from under me and I fall forward onto him, the thorns enveloping us in its maze like grip. My face and arms are immediately scratched, and several thorns push into my palms.

"What are you doing?" I hiss, but am silenced when he brings up one of his bloody fingers and smears blood across my lips as he quiets me.

"There are no cameras or mics here, so listen," he says earnestly, then after a moment of considering something, he adds, "Don't move around or they'll think we're having sex."

"I hate you." I stop moving immediately.

"Well they're not allowed to film so called private moments if we purposely get away from the cameras, so might as well make this an excuse," he says.

He rolls his eyes but clearly the time is limited for whatever it is that he wants to do, so he swiftly brings his mouth to my neck, touching my skin but speaking quickly and quietly in between each moment of contact. If there are cameras positioned on a nearby tree or bush, all they will see is him kissing me, not his lips moving as he tells me everything.

"We can go anywhere you want as long as you're safe. We have to make sure you're the Victor, Katniss. This rebellion needs to continue and only if there is a icon to gather around will it succeed. You're the Mockingjay, and from now on you're not going to do _anything_ that will put your life in danger. Don't try to save us when we die, don't help us. All of us need to die for you to win." Cato leans back and breathes heavily to catch his breath. I feel the humid spot on my neck where his warm mouth was a moment ago.

"_We_? Who else is there? And what about Rosalie?" I breathe, as he casts a furtive glance over my shoulder, afraid that he was overheard.

He winces, the thorns must be slicing into his back as we speak. "Haymitch, Chaff, Finnick and Johanna... everyone but the Careers. And _you're _the one leading the rebellion now. Rosalie isnt going to make it out alive, and if she is, she'll be working with the Capitol. Little traitor."

I open my mouth to ask more. How is it that everyone but me knew about this? Does everyone have to die? Why are they going to stuck great lengths to protect me? Why me at all? Can't they find another substantial figure outside of the arena? A million questions dance in my head.

But Cato gives me a dangerous stare. _Later. _"We've been here too long." He pushes me off and with some difficulty, I am able to extract myself from the bramble and help him get out too. We're both bleeding from these new cuts and scratches, and a long gash down his neck from this morning's flee has reopened.

"Way to go, Katniss." He examines his arms testily and pulls several thorns from his palms. "First you throw a rock at me, now you push me into a thicket."

We climb up the small slope again and find that Rosalie is not there. Her backpack is gone as well.

"She ditched us," I say. I suppose she was tired of listening to us purposely leave her out. I doubt that she's used to being ignored either. I can't imagine she is very far now, with her austere wounds, she can barely walk, let alone cut down the climbing, thick vines entwining this jungle in their clawlike clutch. Because Cato has been injured, we had not moved from our clearing, and I daresay that she will be surprised at how much work it is to move through this place. I would know, the knife I used to cut through the arena before I came across the dead area is dull and rusting in my backpack, apparently the juice of the vines is acidic.

Cato steps forwards across the clearing into the next row of bushes, looking for her, but she has long gone and he turns back, irritated and displeased. Well, of course he wants her to stay. I feel as if I am the only person other than the Careers that dislikes her, with the way everyone acts.

"Well," he comments dryly. "Don't be surprised if District 4 no longer wants to cooperate. They would have made very good allies, Katniss, but I suppose after you've completely destroyed one of their tributes..." He trails off with a sharp glance in my direction.

"I did it to help you! How else would I have gotten medicine for you?" His eyes widen and then sink into repose. He looks utterly defeated for a moment, and I make a noise of smugness. Can't complain now, can he? Can he!? I've done so much for him and suffered so much and he still falls short of realizing the full extent of my sacrifice. How can he not realize?

"Thank you," he murmurs carefully, and coming from him the words are foreign and strange. I have only heard him speak it once.

"Hmph," I sniff.

…

With Rosalie gone, I find that I can relax and fall into a comfortable conversational state with Cato. It's not the same as before, when everything I said seemed like it needed his approval, but I find that now that he's more serious and less apt to make me feel idiotic, it is not difficult to speak my mind. It's still terribly hot, and not a breeze runs through the jungle. The air seems to hang upon the landscape, heavy and humid. The ground grows warmer and warmer, until both of us feel as if we are dying. The water does not last, and by late afternoon we are far too parched to eat or talk much. So we simply lounge under the shade of a nearby tree, one that is giant and towering compared to the others. I think that it's the one I had passed yesterday. The roots are gnarled with age, and occasionally a large leaf will flutter down, with which Cato begins to carve out patterns with a knife to entertain himself. I wonder if they import these trees from some tropical island off District 4, they seem too alive to be prosthetic, and this one is so old that it couldn't possibly been grown here.

Cato looks half asleep by the time the sun begins to set, his eyelids are heavy and he keeps stifling yawns. In addition, he seems to have contracted a cold, either from the significant change in temperature from last night's freezing cold to today's burning heat. He sneezes occasionally and continues to cough.

"Is that blood? Oh my god, what's wrong with you?" I reach out and he moves away, coughing out blood into a piece of cloth. The eccentric red marring the white fabric goes fabulously with the mess of dark, heavy blood across his chest.

"It matches now, doesn't it? I am just _too_ fashionable." He seems to notice me staring, and wipes the last of it off his lips as he mockingly imitates a Capitol accent, probably for my amusement. He switches back to normal. "We should leave for Beetee and the other victors tonight, you can talk to them and make your amends."

I suggest to him that it would be a good idea to stay for another night. He is clearly uncomfortable and in pain, and I have a suspicion that the coughing is directly related to his lung, which still isn't healed and is bleeding all over the place. Cato made several humourless jokes about making his blood into rubies. In the Capitol they do all sorts of strange things, and I believe that he may actually be somewhat serious.

"Then you wear me on your wedding day."

"Not funny," I say. He keeps on insisting that he's fine, its not serious, he's not in pain, but I've tired of his lies, and finally as the temperature begins to fall, I tell him to sleep while I help him rebandage. We can leave when it's cool out.

"If you weren't in the Hunger Games, you would have done well as a medic..." he says, staring at me intently. "Isn't your mother one?"

I suppose she is, but she works for no charge and too often people die because we cannot afford or find the medicine needed. I wonder what sick people do in the Capitol...take a miraculous pill and be cured instantaneously? I hate that they keep all their technology to themselves- luxuries that the people of the districts can only dream about and never see. Bathtubs of gold and ivory, soaps...true cleanliness. Even the spare scraps of velvet and soft silk that Cinna...I almost choke when I think of him, and disguise it as a cough. That Cinna would throw away. Even those little unwanted scraps would make a little girl's treasure in the districts. For in my time in the Capitol, I have known for the first time what it feels like to be beautiful. With jewels at my neck and gold on my wrists, I feel powerful. Without it, plain as I am now, there's always the shadow of doubt. I'm not beautiful or powerful now, not when I'm touching the skin upon _his _back and he thinks nothing of it other than that I would be a good medic.

"Yes..."

But he's asleep and cannot hear my quiet word. Why is he always asleep when I need to tell him something? I'm suddenly angry and I grab his hand in mine so that our fingers are caught together. It seems unnatural and I quickly pull away, shocked and scared. Then I notice something on his wrist,a leather bracelet that looks so worn and soft that I wonder how long he's worn it. I had never noticed. Was it always there? It must be his district token! I had no reason to look at his hands until now, but now I carefully put his limp arm on my lap to look at it better. It's poorly made, tight knots being the only thing keeping it from completely falling into pieces. There are words grafted into it, once again, rather poorly. Even though the edges are frayed and aging, I can see that once it was new and strong. I bring my face closer in order to see the tiny, carved letters.

"_I love you Cato_..." I read out loud, not really administering what I've said until I repeat it in my head again. I clap a hand over my mouth. Oh god no, what if he was awake? What if he is? But I put a palm on his stomach and feel it rising and falling slowly under the wall of muscle.

I decide to read the rest of the words in my head, and bend back over the bracelet.

_I love you Cato, you're my bestest bestest friend ever. From Clovey. _

I suddenly feel like I'm about to cry, and sniff quickly, dropping his wrist. Then I sit quietly watching him sleep there, imagining what it would be to lose Gale, who is truly my best friend. What does he think of when he is reminded of her? Surely the fact that because of me, she died. If only I were not with them last year, Clove would be alive and well, here instead of me. She would be making him laugh with everything she would say, and of course she could talk about anything with him.

Is that why he's been like he has? Is that why? Does he hate me, even a little bit? Yes, he must...I took the place of his best friend. Now that I realize how much she meant to him, I can see that he truly loved her like no other.

A fruit falls to the ground feet away, smashing against the ground and popping on impact. A green juice sprays all over the black dirt. I don't move an inch, my hands squeezing my knees to my chest in a desperate attempt to disappear, to reverse time so that I would have died instead of Clove.

He stirs while I stare at the place where the fruit is splayed open like a foreign specimen. I see him out of the corner of my eye, but I can't pull my eyes away from the deep red of the flesh inside the translucent blue skin. It's like blood. Everything looks like blood now, everything that's red is blood. It's my blood. It's his blood, it's nothing at all.

"It's nothing at all," I speak in a trancelike manner, hugging my knees and staring with eyes wide, wide, wider until they are saucers of dark moons and broken shards of glass. "Nothing at all."

Cato pats me on the head like a child, and for the first time in the many days I have spent with him, he seems to not know what to do. While I sit there, he just keeps patting my head as if I were a little girl who needs reassurance from her older brother, or a dog being pet by its owner.

After a minute of this soft patting, he suddenly stops and cocks his head to one side. "You're not hallucinating, are you?"

I feel my attention being snapped away from the red, and everything is clear again. Yet when I speak, there is an unfamiliar hollow quality to my voice, and even though I try to convince myself that it was nothing, that he really doesn't hold it against me, I know that he actually does. Perhaps not consciously, but he does.

"We...should go now. I'll go pack up."

"The bags have been packed for hours, Katniss. I swear...damnit..." Cato squints his sapphire eyes at me. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Hahah...nothing! Effie, could you send in a shirt for him?" I laugh nervously and quickly change the subject, but he is unfazed and softly closes his hand around my wrist, stopping me from getting the backpacks.

"Brutus will do that. Katniss, if I clearly remember, on the night I _proposed _we promised we would keep no secrets from each other." I look at him like, _Wait what? _until he meaningfully raises an eyebrow. Then I remember what I said at the interviews, that we were supposed to be married this summer.

"Right," I reply grudgingly. "Well-"

"You're not pregnant, are you?" he butts in, and when I automatically make a face, he grins, knowing full well that the possibility of that is nonexistent. "No, you can't be, you're still so skinny."

"I would much rather be fat," I mutter.

He makes a sound of amusement, smiling in the half-dark. We will need to leave soon if we want to take advantage of the night, and as I look towards the backpacks again, he lets go of me and I go and get them, giving him his and shrugging my own onto my shoulders.

"Fat and lonely, then," he smirks. He must be implying that he finds no attraction in larger girls, and I laugh despite the extreme prejudice in the statement...those poor overweight Capitolists who cannot get their bodies reshapen, who all must be looking down at their legs sadly as we speak.

"Still better than _skinny_ and lonely."

"You're not lonely, Katniss. You're never alone." His voice flares and he grabs both my shoulders, almost shaking me as he speaks louder and louder, until he is almost shouting and his voice reverberates across the empty jungle.

"Panem is always with you, watching, hearing and feeling what you do! A million lives are trampled on the bloody floor in a moment of your indecision! They look towards you, they live to join your cause. They die to win these inconsequential battles hidden in war upon formidable war! And yet they fight, because hunger and pain and loneliness are _nothing _to them, because they know that if they are to protect what they love, they will need to sacrifice!"

His hands are shaking. But still he watches my reaction with extraordinary fervent, as if it is all that matters now. And I realize that this speech is not just for me, it is for the people of Panem, the Capitol. For himself. Because for his entire life, Cato Greene has sacrificed all he has in order to do what he loves, even when it hurts him beyond what anyone can inflict.

"Do you understand, Katniss?" He says softly.

I lift my arms and put them around his neck, breathing in a slow breath of his fading smell, not of cologne now, but of forest and blood. He turns his head a little and I feel his nose brushing my cheek, and at the touch I feel myself momentarily carrying his burden.

"Yes."

…

**The Capitol, President Snow's headquarters. **

"President?" The voice gently interrupts the white-haired man clutching the back of a chair with gnarled, tight fingers. He tears his eyes away from the screen, where Katniss Everdeen and Cato Greene are still locked in a embrace, and frowns at the young man with bloodshot eyes. As they adjust to the darkness, he can see that it is his nephew.

Snow hisses, turning his lampshade eyes back to the screen. The little bastard, that District 2 traitor…the only reason that his little speech was actually aired live is because the man in front of him had been in charge of the control room at the time.

"If you were not my nephew, I would sentence you to death for your mistake," he snarls.

"I see no mistake, sir."

"You do not show acts of rebellion, you crush them and delete all traces of the video from the system!"

Taye inclines his head gracefully, his dark eyes soft as always. "Of course, President. However, I am here to discuss a different matter entirely. I gather that you've read my letter?" He looks pointedly at the white envelope lying open on the rich mahogany desk.

Snow is reseated in his velvet chair, and does not give any indication that he had heard him.

"As you can see, sir, Rosalie is no longer an enemy of yours. I'm asking permission to extract her from the arena alive. Meanwhile with your wishes, I shall gladly do all I may to suppress the rebels within and outside the arena."

"And if I do not agree to your terms? You have great audacity, daring to bargain in this way with your President."

"Yes sir, but I'm afraid that you have no choice, for I am in full control of the Gamemakers and what they will be doing."

"LIES!" Snow is suddenly on his feet, roaring, the spit flying from his dry lips. He makes a move as to strangle the man before him, but Taye only steps backwards as two Peacekeepers appear, blocking all attempts of harm.

The old man opens his mouth in fury, but then wisely closes it again, before speaking with extreme spite and vicious intent. "Very well then, Taye, you may proceed with your plans."

"Thank you, sir."

As he walks from the room into the dark, tapestry studded hall, he glances at the time. It is six-forty at night. The two lovers in Sect 7 will be destroyed in exactly twenty minutes from now, if they do not leave their sect in time. He smirks, marveling at how not one of the tributes have made any connection between the hours and the incidents of mayhem. He had even hinted at the relation of it in one note to Katniss Everdeen.

She is indeed fit to be a leader of the rebellion, although there is a distinctively cruel and selfish feel to her every action. She does not have the stony eyed patience expected of her, but rather a need for quick affection and words of comfort, and although she is pretty in a way, Taye smiles ruefully now- she could never compete against others of her time. He will not enjoy seeing her death, but rules are rules and if she is not clever enough to dispatch herself from this crisis, she is certainly not clever enough to lead Panem into the hands of the rebels.

Taye disliked her very much. But then again, even enemies can be used to his advantage. She could perhaps be an adviser or representative of the Districts if she was victor. Perhaps there was hope yet for this torn country. He'd heard enough of the poverty and suffering in the Districts, he understood why the rebellion was existent. Yet...

"Order more Peacekeepers to the districts. Crush all rebellion," he orders the figure on his left. "Do not stop for anything, although spare as many lives as possible. War is coming, gentlemen, and the Capitol must not fall at all costs. It is my uncle Panem is fighting, not our empire."

The figure in white to his left nods. "Yes, sir...yes, President."

* * *

_Author's Note: Well it's much easier to write without having to worry about all that detail. I hate centering it only one one pair, but I suppose Katniss and Cato haven't had the spotlight for quite some time now. (Do you prefer this style of writing or a more detailed style?) _

_Thankyou all for the reviews on the previous chapter, and I hope that you will be wonderful and leave me a review on this one as well. Also, it would be enormously helpful if you gave me your input on which pairing I should write about in my next Hunger Games fanfiction. I want to start a new one, and wasn't sure which to go with. _

-I hope you enjoyed, thank you for reading, and please review.-


	10. Let Fever Steal Me Away

**CHAPTER 9: LET FEVER STEAL ME AWAY**

Snowwhite said when I was young,  
"One day my prince will come."  
So I'll wait for that date.  
They say it's hard to meet your match,  
Gotta find my better half.  
So we make perfect shapes.  
If stars don't align,  
If it doesn't stop time,  
If you can't see the sign,  
Wait for it.  
One hundred percent,  
Worth every penny spent.  
He'll be the one that  
Finishes your sentences.

...

**Katniss Everdeen, District 12. Sect 7.**

"God, I'm so sick," Cato says into my hair, and he moves backwards to cough into his arm. He really is ill, his eyes are glazed and when he moves, it's with apparent pain. He continues to cough while I fish for a bottle of water in my backpack and give it to him.

"Mentally or physically?" I reply sarcastically. He gives the bottle back to me immediately, snickering a bit and I realize how nonsensical it was to give him my water and risk getting sick myself.

"What do _you _think, Katniss?" He seems honest, and tilts his head as he begins to walk forwards, still sniffling a bit. I follow, and realize that while we were talking, the sky had finally lost it's daytime luster and now is as dark as indigo.

I think for a moment, enjoying our friendly banter. Cato is walking slowly, his head bowed and focus trained on the pumice-like, spongy ground beneath us. It's a shocking contrast from the battleground of bodies we have left behind yesterday. What alarms me more, however, is the ease with which Cato is now displaying his physical pain, flinching at random moments and one hand absentmindedly rubbing at one sharp hipbone. I know that there is a huge, blossoming bruise there, having seen it peeking from under his waistband earlier when I was bandaging his chest. He had never been this way before, he must be hurt so badly.

I want to help, to reach out and make him sit down to rest, but I feel as if he's a spring tightly wound up and that if I touch him, he'll snap. So I answer his question.

"Both, I suppose. More of the former, _sometimes I wonder if you're bipola_r..." I finally say, muttering the last part. He's still so intent on the simple task of walking that he doesn't hear it.

"Thank you, that's quite flattering." He smirks at himself, or at me, I can't tell because he's still staring at the ground. Then all of a sudden he seems to jerk awake from his trance, his expression wild and desperate.

Then he shoves me hard, and I stumble to one side with a sound of outrage, but he only hustles me with another push so that I once again stumble, straight forward off a sharp edge of black earth and into another gully. This time I am not so fortunate to land in a soft bush, but instead I stifle a cry as my arm slams against a sharp, hard rock, the darkness oppressing me as I fall several more feet into the shallow ravine. Twigs and branches of low laying shrubs poke me, and I mutter swears at Cato. Why in hell... the idiot.

I'm about to pick myself back up and reprimand him, when I hear the voices.

I stop moving at once and begin to listen. Absolutely ravishingly, it's the Careers. Excuse me while I rollfor joy among the leaves. No, it really is Enobaria who is speaking, with quite a nasty tone. I think that I can distinguish Glimmer...no, not Glimmer-I softly palm myself in the face. _Cashmere _has a similar voice and manner as the late Glimmer, as well as the iconic good looks of a blonde. She and her brother are twittering excitedly.

"Cato! What a surprise," Enobaria snarls. She is not surprised at all, contrary to her greeting. Clearly, from the triumph in her voice, she has been searching for Cato for quite some time.

"Is it?" he replies vaguely, dangerously polite. _Don't make them angry, don't say anything stupid, Cato, _I think to him. He doesn't have a knife or any weapons with him...I have the heavier backpack with all the weapons, and I can only imagine what Enobaria would do to him if she knew that I was here.

"So who did you elope with? District 4? District 12? Love or Lust?" Enobaria barks with mocking laughter, and I imagine that Cato must have some sort of tight forced smile on his face.

"Yeah Cato, care to explain yourself? You go to pursue your own selfish love while your goddamn _allies _are left behind with no warning of the avalanche that falls from the sky!" Cashmere exclaims. "Look at this, damn you, you idiot...I broke my arm."

"Well, congratulations or apologies. Take either, I'm offering both."

I think Cashmere snorts. "You don't even have a weapon, Cato. Is your girlfriend holding all of them for you? Is the Girl on Fire somewhere around?"

No answer from him, but Gloss chuckles, and I hear the sound of a knife being whipped through the air. "I'll bet she is. Or is it Rosalie? Were you two in the middle of something when we came in?"

The way Gloss growls it implies something more than talking. He must be dwelling on the fact that Cato is still half naked.

"Of course he was...slept with half the girls in town..." Enobaria mutters happily, and only because she is standing directly above me I can hear her.

Cashmere is looking around in the surrounding bushes, and I hear the enormous rustling as she delves into the landscape. I am almost holding my breath, hoping that they won't find me and that this won't end with violence. Of course it would be simple to quickly shoot them all with my arrows, but I have no idea if Gloss has a knife to Cato's throat or whatever else they are doing, and I don't want to take the chance.

As the rustling grows louder, and Cashmere comes closer to my spot, I carefully, as silently as possible, scoot backwards deeper into the dark.

"She's not there, Cash," Cato suddenly says just as Cashmere is five feet away. I notice that he still hasn't mentioned who he is speaking of, me or Rosalie. I suppose it's better for the situation this way, but I hate how they immediately conclude that he is possibly with her.

"Liar liar. Your eyes are burning, Cato. You must feel so _helpless, _hmm? Standing there with a knife to your neck, while we're about to kill the love of your life?" Cashmere snaps, and I inwardly groan, seeing that she is quite clever unlike Glimmer and Marvel, who she and her brother must have trained last year.

"Yes of course," he mumbles. From my hiding place, laying as still as possible in the gully, I am getting more and more anxious. When will they leave? My arm is at an awkward angle beneath me, and I feel blood seeping through my uniform, warm and uncomfortable. Should I jump out at them and hope to surprise them?

No...Cato's doing this for me, I know he is. He said that he would die to protect me, and the least thing I can do is to stay hidden here and not complicate things. I feel like I'm going to make a terrible mistake tonight. It's there in my stomach, a horrible ominous feeling, and I want to vomit. But I just lay there, helpless, listening to Cato speak with a knife to his throat. My heart is beating too fast, and now, my teeth begin to chatter, whether from nerves or the cold, I cannot tell. I bite down on my tongue, determined not to make a sound. I taste blood.

I have the audacity to try to move, and the metal water bottle strapped to my backpack makes a noticeable _ding _as it hits against a branch. I immediately tense, as Gloss asks what the sound was. Cato needs to think quickly at my expense once again.

_I'm sorry, Cato. _I always put him in such danger, and yet he stays with me and never truly abandons me...

...

**Cato Greene, District 2. Sect 7.**

"What was that? Sounded like metal," Gloss snarls in my ear, and I can't help but smirk, closing my eyes, as the knife presses into my neck. Cashmere continues to literally dive into the bushes in her crazed effort to find Katniss. In fact, she is close now, only five feet or so from the place where Katniss is.

"Sounds like _wind, _idiot," I fix him with a stare of superiority and he makes no further comment, afraid of being downgraded by my words. In fact, I silently think to Katniss not to move anymore. There's a certain extent to how far I can convince them that she isn't indeed there. Cashmere certainly doesn't believe me, for she's beginning to pick up large rocks and throw them into the surrounding darkness. It seems that she can still move with ease even though she's broken her arm.

"Well you've found me, Enobaria, and I suppose now you'll..." I force myself to feign a laugh, hoping to keep the situation light. Cashmere is bound to find Katniss at this rate, and if not, she'll most likely hit her with a rock instead.

"Kill you? Of course not," she snorts, "Not my star student, no, heheh..." she trails off in a disturbing manner, and eyes me in a way that is psychologically scarring. But she quickly regains composure when I make a face.

"No, instead you'll lead us to both District 12 and District 4. There are things worse than death, Cato, and you'd be humiliated even if you've got a pretty body."

"Pretty...more like gorgeous," I murmur incoherently, and louder I say with false distress, "You're blackmailing me, Enobaria?" Then, as she nods, I feign anger and embarrassment, though I am trying not to smile.

"Fine, fine then."

And then, when Cashmere ties my hands and take hold of the rope like I'm a wild animal, I let her, feeling the rough edges rub against my wrists. But when she comes in with her mouth to touch mine, I feel myself turning away, so she kisses my chin instead. It was involuntary, a reflex that I did not know that I had possessed. It's the way Katniss looked at me that night of the Tribute Parade when I was with Rosalie, I think.

"Oh," she snickers. "Well you'll be with me for a while, so we can get to know each other better before we do anything."

I swear at her, with a word that the Gamemakers should censor before airing the footage, and Cashmere snickers again before giving the rope a sharp tug, jerking my arms forwards.

"Which way, Cato?" Enobaria teases, handing me a spare shirt from inside her backpack. Then, seeing that I can't put it on with my hands tied, she has Cashmere clothe me. I give her a cold look as her fingers brush against my lower stomach, remembering the times Katniss looked like she wanted to touch me, but didn't dare to. Katniss shows restraint, at least, and doesn't go on feeling whatever part she wants like I'm a statue.

"Hmm," I sigh and wearily gesture northwards, where the moon is rising in the night sky, and Enobaria smiles wolfishly. Cashmere pulls me forwards, smirking at my hard glance, and as we pass where Katniss is, I lurch forwards, pretending to trip on a rock.

"Clumsy?" Gloss calls, but as I'm on the ground, I call only look into the darkness and see Katniss' wide silver eyes regarding me silently. I mouth four words, before Cashmere gives the rope another sharp and painful tug, forcing me to stand up.

I don't look back as we continue, but I hold that last meeting of eyes tightly in my mind. It may be our last. She has moonshine eyes, and I'm tempted to go back to her, to tell her that, but if I want to keep her safe, I need to lead the Careers away from her. I need to give her time to find her district partner and Volts from District 3. She needs to be strong and stay alive.

So I'll bring them to Rosalie first.

...

**Katniss Everdeen, District 12. Sect 7.**

He falls, and yet even as his knees slam against the ground, I can see that it is intentional. Then as Cashmere laughs and Gloss ridicules him, Cato turns to look at me. There's such calculating intensity in his expression that I can only stare back silently. There's fresh blood smeared across his cheek and a grey shirt hangs loosely on his shoulders.

Then, his eyes flash in the moonlight as he mouths, '_Stay safe and win'_. He's jerked up by the rope that's been tied to his wrists, and I think that I can see blood, but before I can do anything but widen my eyes, he is up and gone, not looking back.

"What was that back there? You were looking into that bush for the longest time," Gloss jests lightly, as they jog further and further.

I can only hear the last part of what Cato replies. They move so quickly as a group that I doubt that many others could keep up with them.

"...just a little owl."

…

I carefully come out of the ravine, filled with a dreadful feeling that blossoms up from my stomach. Clove had called him too unselfish, although at that time he gave every indication that he was better than both of us with his arrogant remarks. How wrong I had been when I had thought him a conceited, heartless murderer. He isn't selfish. He's selfless.

Only a minute or so passes when I hear the scream.

I jump a bit, but immediately afterwards I begin to run, heeding my own instinct and Cato's repeated requests that I stay safe. It doesn't matter who or _what _had made that ghastly noise. The two backpacks are heavy on my back, jostling against my shoulders as I slip across the damp spongy ground. Bushes scratch against my legs as my feet beat against the soil, and it is only because of the smooth-trunked trees that I am able to see clearly where I am going.

I wish that it'd been more subtle.

The animal materializes from thin air before me, a growling mass of gruesome snarls that shake my bones with their incredible, terrifying deepness. It is a hound of the night, a mutant, a killer. One moment, I am running into the endlessness of the jungle, and as this muscled, unnatural creation appears before, me, I am unprepared and nearly sprint into it's jaws.

It growls, once, twice, and with a haunting realization, I am frozen in place. It is a beautiful creature. With chocolate eyes and rich dark fur. It has Clove's eyes, Clove's hair.

I step backwards and lift my bow, but my hands are shaking as I look into her eyes, full of light and naive fury. I pull the arrow back, back until if I even so much move a finger, the arrow will release and kill her. But just as I take another step back, the creature barks, a ghostly sound that makes me jump and shoot the arrow into a bush a foot away from the target. Before I can do anything else, it barks again and runs to the right, the long silky tail waving as it leaps away, and the clawed feet pounding lightly against the smoke black ground.

It...no, _she _is following the trail that Cato took. He and the Careers must be near the boundaries of this area, but I have no doubt that Clove-wolf will find them. I don't know if this is a coincidence or terrible luck, but I know that if Cato sees her- this sick, sick Capitol creation- _he'll lose his mind_. He's told me that he cares for not one of the Careers or Capitalists. I don't know if he cares for me. But I know that if anything, even if every word he has ever said is a lie, his heart is tied to Clove.

Without thinking, I begin to run, my legs burning with exertion and my breath hitching in my dry, cold mouth. The wind rushes against me, and even as I dig into the ground harder with my feet, it seems that I'm too slow, too slow to stop the creature. My legs are being consumed with the fire of trying and not being able to, and my eyes are so focused on the ground that I forget to be aware.

The animal is on me in an instant, the needle-sharp teeth deep in my shoulder and the claws scrabbling and ripping at my backpack. I cry out in pain, and without meaning to, I hear a wailing scream coming from my lips as the claws slip and sink into my back.

I try to beat it away with my bow, slamming it into the growling mass besides me, but my arm gives way and I can do nothing but fall to the ground, writhing like a goat desperate to get a snake off from it's back. There's nothing else I can do, the terrible pain and feeling of being _bitten, _being teared apart and knowing that Cato might soon meet the same fate...I can do nothing but feel the teeth at my arms and scream as they sink deeper and deeper, my hands unable to move and my body too tired to fight back.

Then, suddenly, the claws are not scrabbling anymore, the teeth are frozen in my shoulder, and the pain comes in horrible waves. The creature is stiff...I struggle to my knees and look at it's body as it falls away from mine, although the teeth and front paws are still lodged in my back. There is a trident through the chest of the tawny animal, a golden trident that could only belong to one person. Finnick Odair.

I fix my eyes on the dead body of the wolflike creature as the footsteps approach, not wanting to meet Finnick or Rosalie or Johanna or who else's eyes. In fact, if I were not owing my life to them and wounded, I would run away. The rough coat is a streaked blond, and the glassed over eyes are blue. The wolf has a prominently square jaw, and is rather stocky and short. Then I think back to the Clove-wolf...this one is supposed to be Peeta. _It's Peeta!_ I can tell, and all of a sudden I gasp and yank away from it's clenched teeth and claws, but they are so tightly secured that all my movement does is to cause more pain and blood.

"Hello Katniss," he says when he crouches besides me, tilting his head. Finnick Odair looks well, the time in the arena has done nothing but seemingly mussed his hair, and he smirks at me with exquisite, pale eyes, that survey me without a sound.

I don't know where it comes from, but a hiss of hostility escapes from between my chapped lips as if I were an angry cat. Then I begin to struggle again, embarrassed and angry that Finnick Odair ever came across me. He's going to pay for this, no matter what happens, the moment I can, I'll shoot him through the heart with an arrow.

As I glare up at his lean body, I see Johanna hovering in the background, looking through my backpack, which had come off a while ago in the struggle. There are blood and slashes through the fabric, and I make a sort of lunge towards her direction in an attempt to stop her.

Finnick makes a sort of amused sound, before sitting me back down. "Have you noticed, Katniss, that you have an animal embedded into your shoulder?"

"Yes, I do notice, Finnick," I snap shortly, and then I angrily tell Johanna, "Stop that!"

"What, do you have love notes from Cato hidden in here? Or provisions for your nightly endeavors with him?" Johanna replies, distracted with my few knives and the food in the bag.

He laughs softly, that famous laugh that is accompanied with flashing white teeth, and places his hands on my arms to hold me down, before swiftly retrieving a knife from his belt and the head and paws off of the creature so that I only have the muzzle and claws in my back. Johanna places my backpack near me, the contents being already examined. I am biting on my lip so hard that it begins to bleed profusely.

"Where are the others?" he asks me nonchalantly as he picks each of the claws and teeth out with deft fingers. I can only imagine what revolting work it might be, and wonder why he would ever help me. I've done mostly nothing for District 4 other than try to kill his district partner, and now he's going through so much trouble to help me.

The others? Cato and Rosalie? So that's his motive, isn't it?

"I don't know," I mumble. He looks at me with searching eyes as if expecting me to elaborate, but I jut out my chin and don't say anything else.

There is a scream in the distance, and with a sinking, heavy feeling rushing into my chest, I remember the reason for my haste...that must be the Clove-wolf reaching the Careers. I'm too late.

"Who was that?" Johanna asks, her ax at the ready. Now, as she circles into the patches of moonlight, I realize that she is not wearing a shirt. I suppose she doesn't care much and Finnick has undoubtedly seen his share of women, but to me, the sight is both disturbing and inappropriate.

"Probably some poor child who just went blind as they looked at you," I growl, and Johanna steps towards me with narrowed eyes, wielding her axe. I reach behind me for and arrow to fit in my bow, but Finnick has removed my quiver and bow from my shoulder.

"Katniss, is it truly adequate to mock your rescuers? It would be painfully easy for us to kill two birds with one stone." He brings his knife to my throat, and purrs, his voice rough and soft all at once. It only reminds me of Cato, and more than anything, I need to see if he's okay now.

"Cato-I mean, the Careers," I say quickly a piercing howl fills the dark, black jungle and shouting echoes through the trees. "Can we go to them? _Please_!" Suddenly I am almost begging, beseeching the two of them with my eyes. _Please let me go, please help me. _

He stands there for a moment, regarding me, but even so, his eyes are everywhere, flicking past my body into the trees, then back again. Finnick Odair looks uncertain, I realize. He lifts his eyes to the sky then back to me, and in this moment, I finally understand that his charismatic, distracted smile that the girls fawn over is really just an expression of his indecision. I don't even think that he realizes that he makes all these provocative expressions.

_Boom. _

In a heist of screaming and more shouting ensues the sound of the cannon, and I wonder who it is. One of the Careers? It must be...

"Oh my god, no..." I gasp, and I force myself up and try to run again, my shoulder searing as if on fire, my steps lopsided and uncontrollable. Then, as I lurch forwards towards the sound of screams, my feet catching on every branch and rock, I feel firm hands take grasp of my wrists. I have no energy to fight, and so I let myself be pulled back, hyperventilating with worry.

"Let go," I sob dryly, hopelessly clawing at Finnick's arms. What if he's dead? What if Cato is dead? After all this...after that first day in training, interviews, the forest fire, looking for Peeta. I almost drowned and he saved me, and he's taking more pain for me that I have ever imagined. And now...finally when I have realized that I _love him..._is he dead?

"Hush...Cato wanted nothing more than to protect you, Katniss...don't put yourself in danger," he murmurs sadly, holding me close to his chest and rocking me like a child in a cradle. Once upon a time I might have slapped him for touching me or rebuke him harshly, but now, I fall into the warmth of his firm body.

Does it really take the bite of death for me to realize that all of this, all the coldness and hidden feelings, the restrain in his voice and the stiff way he touches me...is all this a ploy of Cato's to _protect me? _

_Yes. I know the answer is yes. _

I stand up with my mouth set in a firm line. I am the Mockingjay. I must win. For Cinna, for Clove...for all those who have lost their lives in my stead. I am reluctant to add Cato to that list. Only tonight will tell. Time is passing, slow as molasses and fast as quicksand. Tick tock.

* * *

_/ Authors Note: Thank you all for the reviews on the last chapter, I was unable to reply to them due to business. I also apologize for this late update, I said that I would update in more frequent intervals and I missed the mark this time. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, feel free to leave comments, questions, or whatever else in a review! It would mean a lot to me! _


	11. All Is Fair In Love and War

**CHAPTER 11: ALL IS FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR**

Yellow diamonds in the light  
And we're standing side by side  
As your shadow crosses mine  
What it takes to come alive

It's the way I'm feeling I just can't deny  
But I've gotta let it go

Shine a light through an open door  
Love and life I will divide  
Turn away cause I need you more  
Feel the heartbeat in my mind

It's the way I'm feeling I just can't deny  
But I've gotta let it go

_We found love in a hopeless place_

...

**Katniss Everdeen, District 12. Sect 7.**

I am the Mockingjay. I am strong. I will not cry.

"You're jumping to conclusions. He might not be dead...maybe it was Enobaria." Johanna says in an

attempt to comfort me. She is still loud and sarcastic but I appreciate the effort.

"I'm alright," I say flatly, even though I'm not. I feel like worry and suspense will rip me apart. I have never looked forwards to the nightly Capitol anthem more than now.

A bark directly behind me breaks the silence between the three of us as Finnick and Johanna watch me carefully. Now, as we turn in unison, all of a sudden not one of us is standing still as we were, we all take on positions of combat.

This animal has blue eyes, and in the inky, thick darkness, I can not see it's body color or features. All there is are those gleaming blue orbs. I feel intense hatred for these beasts now, and my hand is so tight on my bow that if the beast moved the slightest bit closer, I could destroy it as it has destroyed all my hopes.

"Wait," Finnick breathes besides me. He's squinting, his calm sea colored eyes searching for the animal in the darkness. It walks forward, growling growling growling, at all of us, but especially at the District 4 victor besides me. Like the Clove-wolf had, it steps into a patch of moonlight and seems to pause there, waiting for us to look at it and revel at it's twisted beauty.

There is a short breath of despair besides me, and Finnick is suddenly breathing as quickly as I had been. He has reason to, and as I turn back to truly look at the wolf-like creature, I understand.

Its almost invisible, because it blends in so well with our dark surroundings. It has beautiful dark fur, a dewy midnight black. It is a small animal, with thin legs, a slim body, and a vicious muzzle that tapers into a delicate point. If I didn't know that it was a mutation, a hated creation of the Capitol, I would perhaps have lowered my bow.

_Rawrrrrrrr. _It opens it mouth wide and seems to be speaking as it snarls. But it makes no move towards us, instead fixing it's wide eyes upon Finnick, still growling.

Then I understand. Clove-wolf went to Cato. The dead Peeta-wolf came and attacked me. This one is Rosalie, and it will destroy Finnick if he doesn't run. These mutations are living ghosts of dead people that loved us. Clove is dead, Peeta is dead. The appearance of this creature means that...

"The cannon," Johanna mutters, catching on quickly. The cannon signified Rosalie's death. Not Cato's. Yet I don't feel relieved. I glance at Finnick, whose face is as pale as the moon above us. He understands, he has understood from the moment he saw it standing there.

"No..." he moans, and at that moment, as he drops his trident in an act of hopelessness like I was in earlier, the animal strikes.

It jumps, higher than anything could, and as it soars seven feet in the air towards Finnick, who doesn't even seem to care anymore, I release my arrow. The animal dies with a deafening screech. The body falls at my feet, but before I can even so much as retrieve my arrow, Johanna carefully picks the animal up by its stiff back legs and throws it over a mass of bushes into the valley below. We're standing on a hill, I realize, which explains the gullies and increased turbulence in the area. After several seconds of free-falling, we hear the body thud against the distant ground.

"That didn't help," I snap at her. Finnick has that distracted look flitting across his sculpted features again, his eyes dark and stormy as they focus upon the place where Johanna had thrown the animal across. In addition, she just threw away one of my arrows.

"I guess we're allies now, whether you like it or not," I say,taking command. I grab hold of Finnick's trident and hand it to him. He's still blinking hard, unable to accept what has happened. I feel neutral about Rosalie's death, but it must be heartbreaking for him. He's known her for five years and clearly cares for her more than I could ever care for anyone, even Cato. I find myself regretting ever calling him heartless, because although Finnick Odair may play with women as if with toys, he still is as susceptible to heartbreak as the rest of us. He finally snaps out of his smile as I shove the gold trident into his arm.

"Whatever," he mutters, biting his lip and taking hold of it. He doesn't look like the sculpted sex-god he is known to be, I feel like he's going to lose his composure any moment. "Let's get out of here."

"I'll carry your backpacks for you," Johanna says to me, and I thank her with a grim nod. She returns my nod by raising her chin rudely. I ignore her and instead stretch my arms and legs for the run-they are so so stiff from my injuries. My back sends searing pain throughout my body when I throw my arms back. I wince. This afternoon was a lifetime ago, eating bread and talking to Cato as if we had no cares is a time long past..._this_ is the Hunger Games. Pain, suspense, and the fear of being killed at any moment. This is when it truly begins.

...

**Sect 5 , 2 miles from Cornucopia. **

We run steadily for a hour, stopping at intervals so that I can check how far we are from the Cornucopia. Finnick came up with the idea, although he's been so silent and downcast that it's as if Johanna and I are running alongside a ghost. He said that if we make our base at the Cornucopia, we can, or more specifically, _I _can heal and decide what to do next. Now, as I claw my way up above the forest canopy, I make up my mind- no matter who my allies are, whether I'm with Cato or Finnick, I still need to maintain the Mockingjay ruse. I'm not feeling so sure about the entire thing anymore...it's hard enough keeping myself alive, and if I win and Haymitch and Cato die, will I really want to lead the Rebellion alone? Will I even be happy anymore?

I don't even have any friends other than Gale back at home, and even he's been busy now that he's working in the mines. Haymitch was a real friend and mentor though...and Effie as well, but the only reason I saw her so much this year was because she was so involved with the Victory Tour. And...will there even be the yearly Hunger Games for me to look forward too if the rebellion succeeds? Although the Hunger Games are cruel and horrible, at least they entertain me somewhat. I've never mentored either. I was excited about mentoring tributes of my own, before I found out about the Quarter Quell. I guess it really did seem like a game of sorts at that time.

And Cato...hmph. I don't even want to think about him.

I swing myself up, reminding myself to be careful. Finnick offered to climb the trees in my place because of my back injuries, but I saw that he wasn't in the mood and would probably be so distracted that he would plummet to his death.

So here I am, itching at the edges of my cuts with one hand and hugging the gray trunk of the tree with the other as I look over the enormous expanse of the arena. The stars abovehead seem so far away although the ceiling of the arena can only be meters from the tip of this tree. I still can't understand how everything in the arena is so realistic. It's still the spoke of the wheel, with the 12 sections of sand neatly dividing the forest as well. The Cornucopia shines dimly in the center of the beach, although now that I've moved through several miles of forest, it's a different viewpoint.

I climb back down, and as I jump to the ground, the anthem begins to play for the nightly counting. The hologram of the Capitol seal appears in the sky-it's a bird holding eight arrows and surrounded by laurels. Dramatic music begins to play, as the words "_The Fallen" _appear.

"You don't have to watch," I say to Finnick. He's looking up at the sky with those famous emerald eyes, and his expression is so pained that I feel horrible for being so cocky and thinking about what would happen when I won. Finnick and Johanna could very well come out as Victor. Especially since they haven't done anything to anger the Capitol like I have, Snow isn't out to get them like he is for me. In fact, during training, District 4 was the popular vote for most likely to win.

" Seeing is believing, " Finnick replies.

The first death of today... my eyes widen as _Gloss _appears in the sky. Johanna snorts, apparently finding this very funny. I expect Rosalie's face to appear next, but that's it. The anthem plays again as the three of us exchange glances. Johanna shrugs and goes to put her shirt back on.

"What a clever trick," Finnick remarks dryly. He's referring to the way the Gamemakers made us believe that Cato and Rosalie were dead, when they are both actually alive. I think that they just wanted to see what our reactions are. President Snow certainly likes playing mindgames, so I wouldn't be surprised if he put them up to it.

All the adrenaline that's been fueling me for the past day suddenly leaves my body. I haven't slept for more than two days, and I'm hungry too. I didn't feel it before, because my stomach was so full of nervous energy. But now that I know that all my allies- and I guess I consider Rosalie an ally too- are okay, I'm absolutely _starving_.

Judging from the look on their faces, my companions are in need of rest as well, although they're probably better off than me, "Let's call it a day."

"We're far enough from the mutations, but we need to assign watches in case. Johanna can take first watch, I'll take second, and Katniss can have third," Finnick agrees.

Johanna points at herself, "Don't worry, I can take both your watches."

"Sounds good. I'm hungry though... do you two want anything to eat?" I ask.

"Why yes, I _want_ a steaming bowl of meat stew and fourteen drumsticks dipped in cheese," Johanna replies sarcastically. I don't ask...I've had my fill of sarcasm between Cato, Clove, and Haymitch.

"Well I've only got bread..." I take my backpack from Finnick and find the two loaves that are left. Both are the seaweed kind from District 4. Finnick raises an eyebrow, obviously finding this strange. This is technically his bread, because the District 4 sponsors sent it, but I'm too tired to tell him.

It turns out that he and Johanna have bread and cheese as well, also from the District 4 sponsors. Being beautiful has its perks. We share our food with each other, chewing thoughtfully. Finnick is considerably lighter in spirit now, and I notice that although he is always polite and charming in the presence of others, he doesn't eat differently than I do. While Cato is picky with his food and Johanna likes to rip her bread into dozens of pieces before eating, Finnick and I eat quickly and efficiently. He and I might not be all too different after all.

"We only have one sleeping bag between us, so I guess you two will have to fight it out," Johanna declares. She gets up and climbs to the top of a boulder that juts out of the ground, and sits down on the gray surface, calling downwards, "I'll wake you if anything happens."

"You can have the sleeping bag," I tell Finnick. I wish that I had my own sleeping bag with me, but it's in Cato's backpack. At least he'll be comfortable at night. Suddenly I think of how Cashmere was pulling him along like a dog on a leash, and the way she looked at him during training. Now that they're together, who knows what will happen? The problem is that Cashmere is actually intelligent while Glimmer was stupid.

"No, you should have it, Katniss," Finnick replies. When he sees my expression of disgust as I think about Cashmere and Cato, he interprets it as my refusal of that idea. "Or, since we both insist on being courteous, shall we share it? As friends of course?"

I hesitate, looking at his beautiful eyes and confident, charming smile. Do I really want to sleep in such close proximity with Finnick Odair? The notorious womanizer? I'm not even sure if we're actually allies either, so he and Johanna might even kill me in my sleep.

"What's wrong?" He grins at my indecision and shakes his head, catching on to my thoughts. "Don't worry...I don't mess around with girls that don't love me."

Pshhh. I don't trust him...the dozens of women that he's gone through testify enough proof. It doesn't even matter that he's always been kind to me, or that he's the most attractive man in Panem. I don't want to put myself in such danger. But he's also right...it's cold tonight and I'm injured. If I refuse his offer, I might freeze.

I nod curtly. "Fine, but I swear, if you try anything, I'll slap you upside the head. And possibly kill you."

"Fair enough."

I pick the sleeping bag up and lay it in a relatively moonlit area of the small clearing, so that if he decides to do anything, everybody watching the broadcast will see. Finnick watches me with passive eyes, masking a smile but occasionally grinning a little. He finds me funny, but I'm not trying to be. I honestly just don't want to be molested by anybody tonight.

I climb into the small sleeping bag first, wriggling as far to the left as the rough material will allow. Finnick comes in next, and as he carefully settles himself, he accidently elbows me in the ribs. Our legs are touching and it's uncomfortable. Moreover, my wounds keep on rubbing against his shoulder blades.

Finnick clearly doesn't think anything of sleeping next to me, but being the gentleman, he respects my space and plasters himself against the right of the sleeping bag so that I'll have more room. I lay there, tense, thinking of last night when I was in a similar situation with Cato, while Finnick's breathing slows until I'm sure that he's asleep. When I turn to see how Johanna is doing, I nearly bump noses with him. He has dark curled eyelashes and his lips are so close to mine that I immediately turn back on my side to avoid possible contact. I'm afraid to do anything.

A while passes until I finally nod off. My dreams are empty.

...

**Cato Greene, District 2. Sect 7.**

_If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. If they don't, they never were. _

It's something I heard long ago. I never understood it...but then again, the ones I loved had always been close by. There was Clove, who never left my side; and there was the other girl, the one that I have covered with so much emotion that even if I tried to remember the time we had together, I couldn't. All I know is that we were happy. She made me feel the way Katniss sometimes does...like I could die and be content at that moment.

But now, as I stroke the animal's chocolate fur and gaze into it's glassy eyes that are exact mirrors of Clove's, I understand. Every lingering scream that pierces the air from the other end of the jungle hammers stakes into my chest. That's Katniss' screams. She's being hurt, whether by another tribute or one of these mutations, it doesn't matter...I haven't felt such longing for anything in years. I want to break away from these ropes and run to her...to save her again, but if I did, Enobaria would follow and we would both be dead.

I'm reluctant to call it love. I know that Katniss wants me to reciprocate her feelings...but I am her first, the first she has loved. She doesn't know the feeling of loss, when the one you care most about disappears. I know the feeling well.

I see the hurt in her eyes when I refuse her, but if I let myself loose, it would be ten times worse. Maybe if I show her that she doesn't need to care about me or worry for me, she won't be so hurt when I die.

I stand up, casting one last glance at the animal that so resembles Clove, my nerves on end. Gloss' body lays two feet away, ripped apart and bloody. It was a spectacular death, if I say so myself. First his stomach was slashed in two, and then as Cashmere watched, frozen, the animal decapitated him. After that, Enobaria had had enough, and she killed it with her spear.

"We should clear out so they can collect the body," I order the two remaining Careers. They are both in shock, even Enobaria is wide-eyed as she watches Cashmere sob over her brother's body. If we don't leave the area soon, the scent of blood will attract more of the creatures. I don't want to know what will be next.

"Let's go," I say. Cashmere is still shaking and weeping uncontrollably, and I pull her to her feet with the rope. She falls onto me, still crying, and I push her off of me. "Let's _go._" I repeat again. This time when I begin to walk, she is the one to follow.

The cannon goes off as we walk away from the scene. Cashmere is still too upset to keep up, and she keeps on falling on her knees because the tears blur her vision. A year ago, I would have gotten angry at her incompetence, but I've changed, and I know what she feels. Her closest friend, her younger brother, is dead.

The anthem plays and Gloss appears in the sky as Cashmere begins to cry again. The hovercraft pulls in above us, hovering for a brief moment as it collects the body, before rising up into the night clouds again.

"Remind me of your _plan_ again," Enobaria says, pulling us forward at a fast trot. She may have been tongue tied before, but now she takes charge. I step back and let her... she may not be my mentor anymore, but I won't forget that she is the one who taught me all I know, and is therefore more eligible Regardless, I'm technically supposed to be the prisoner that follows along, not a leader.

...

**Sect 9 , 3 miles from Cornucopia. **

"The plan?" Enobaria asks again once we stop walking hours later. We had lapsed into a silence that allowed each of us time to think and reflect on the recent turn of events. Cashmere has stopped crying, but her eyes are still red and puffy. Enobaria is as emotionless as usual, and has spent the past half hour rubbing at her teeth with a finger as we walked.

"Well..." I scratch at my wrists, which sting as they chaff against the rope.

"We can leave for the Cornucopia in the morning. Then..." An old streak awakens in me, and I smirk coldly. "_We hunt_."

Since Enobaria is the only one among us who is fit to take the nightly watch; with my injuries and Cashmere's emotional turbulence and whatnot, she tells us to rest.

When Cashmere goes to lay down, Enobaria pulls me aside. I feel like a child again, and she's my mentor.

"Let me have a look at that," she gestures at my chest.

"What happened? There was so much blood back where you left us that I figured you were dead. You don't look too good."

She doesn't mention being drugged to sleep, although the likelihood of her forgetting is nonexistent. She just doesn't think it important enough to fight with me about. I'm glad, I have a pounding headache that clashes with fatigue.

I bring both hands to my temples and run them over my eyes.

"I guess love isn't meant to be skin-deep," I sigh vaguely as she helps me take off my bandages.

Enobaria smirks, and I am reminded of how much we are alike.

"In other words, Rosalie seduced you," she snickers. She looks at my chest. "Hmph, this isn't as bad as it looks. Way to be melodramatic, Cato."

She licks her finger and slides it against my cold skin, and then scrutinizes the smear of blood with her dark, olive eyes. I feel small again. I feel like the little boy sniffling as his mentor ties his broken fingers together. I was wrong, what I told Katniss is wrong. I _do _care for Enobaria. She gave me purpose, pushed me through sweat and blood... shared with me her world, the world of glory.

"This is bull, Cato. You're fine, go to sleep!" Enobaria shoves me away, muttering about _exaggeration _and me being a _drama queen at heart_. I smile, then grin behind her back. If only she knew.

The skin of my wound is indeed healed, but I know that injuries, like love, are rarely skin deep. My heart could be leaking and my lungs could be spliced into a dozen pieces.

"All the better." I smirk, speaking out loud. Better for Katniss and I both... no heartbreak or lifelong regrets. Just the agonizing but humiliating death of Cato Greene through internal flesh wounds.

I laugh quietly but angrily at the thought, my hands tearing at the skin of my neck. I don't realize what I'm doing until the bloody scratches begin to sting.

I make a sound between disgust and scorn. Enobaria mirrors it, watching me with interest.

Cashmere abruptly sits up, her hair mussed, squinting at me. Then she groans sleepily.

"Shut up Gloss, will you?" She turns in her sleeping bag and immediately falls back asleep.

I stare at her for a moment, then walk past her sleeping body to place my own sleeping bag down.

I calculate the position of the stars as I drift asleep, hoping that they will fall into formation and solve this cruel puzzle that we are pieces in.

...

**The Capitol, Gamemaker Control Center, 8 miles from Arena. **

Coriolanus Snow grips the arms of his chair tightly as he watches the turn of events. Katniss Everdeen is still stirring rebellion, even though she is in the arena.

"How can this be?" he snarls aloud, spit angrily flying forward. The hologram screen showing Katniss Everdeen asleep flickers. "SHE SHOULD BE DEAD!"

The Gamemakers in the level below shift uncomfortably. The President is glaring at them evilly from the balcony above. Even through the glass partition they hear him roar. Plutarch Heavensbee gets up from his leather seat and paces a full circle around the room, checking on the teams of Gamemakers in charge of each sect.

"Sit down," Taye orders nonchalantly. The young man has one hand gracefully resting on his chin in a thoughtful position. He sits at the head of the Control Room, in the place where President Snow would usually occupy. A legion of Peacekeepers stand alert at his side, daring anyone at all to oppose them.

"How are the tributes?" he asks the Gamemakers as Plutarch reluctantly takes his seat. Without waiting for an answer, he continues speaking in the same quietly powerful voice. "Ensure that the Careers and the Mockingjay arrive at the Cornucopia simultaneously. It'll make for a good show."

"Yes, President," the Gamemakers cry in unison, shooting nervous glances up at Corniolanus Snow's angry figure in the balcany. They know that recognizing Taye Helistin as their President is treason, punishable by death. But the young raven-haired man also controls the entire Peacekeeper multitude, so they're safe, right?

Plutarch Heavensbee sighs."And shall we continue to execute your earlier request?"

"Yes, keep both District 4 tributes alive." Taye looks at his watch, then runs his dark eyes over the row of holograms keeping tabs on each of the remaining tributes. There are a dozen or so, which means that half are dead.

Katniss Everdeen sleeps beside Finnick Odair. The Careers are two miles away. Haymitch Abernathy's group is directly across the arena, not asleep, but heatedly discussing what they should do. Beetee is operating alone, feverishly perfecting a device he's made from wire that can detect nearby water.

He stands up and gestures for the two Peacekeepers flanking him to follow. The other five Peacekeepers will stay in the Control Room and ensure that his instructions were being carried out. As Taye presses his palm against the door's sensor, he glances up at the balcony. His uncle is staring down at him with murder screaming in his beady snake eyes.

He leaves the room and begins to walk down the hallway to the hovercraft outside, slightly unnerved.

"How is the rebellion, Captain? In District 10 are they still emptying the storehouses?"

The blonde Peacekeeper clears his throat and speaks in a deep voice, his eyes as piercing as ice. "No sir, District 10 is currently being tightly controlled, as are the other districts."

"Good, good. But Captain, I've heard reports of tear gas and public whippings as- what did you call it? Control."

Velorum Greene's jaw tightens. He has been Captain of the Peacekeepers for years now, and not once has he been questioned like this. By such a brat as well, a lovesick one at that. He wants to sneer, but instead the Captain politely dips his head and answers.

"Sir, without such events it would be impossible to control the population."

Taye smiles slightly to himself as he receives the answer. Of course. Fear is more effective than love, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to exercise it. Would he not be the same as his uncle then? Corniolanus used fear as his scepter and sat on a throne of oppression. Is that not the reason why the people rebelled in the first place?

Yet, what did he care if the people loved or hated him? As long as the ones he cared for were safe, Taye could throw away the entire world. However, he needed to maintain control over the Peacekeepers to carry out his plan. As long as he controlled the Peacekeepers, the Districts, the Capitol-his uncle...they were all in the palm of his hand.

"If your son was killed in Quarter Quell, would you end your allegiance to me, Velorum?" he muses.

"No, President."

"Good."

* * *

_/Authors Note: Thank you for the reviews! I really appreciate them and always look forward to them, although I would appreciate it if you didn't call me or my characters names. I tried not to be so flowery with my writing this time, hopefully the chapter is easier to read and understand.  
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